Strong  Hearts 


Strong  Hearts 

By  George  W.  Cable 


Charles  Scribner's  Sons 
New  York  1899 


Copy  right,'  '1899,  by 
Sttibner's;  Sons 


TROW  DIRECTORY 

«TING  AND    BOOKBINDINQ  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK 


CONTENTS 

Page 

The  Solitary •/ 

The  Taxidermist 5' 

The  Entomologist 9/ 


,%  /«  magazine  form  "  The  Solitary"  appeared  under  tlie  iitle 
of  "  Gregory's  Island." 


The  Solitary 


The  Solitary 


<<rTHE  dream  of  Pharaoh  is  one.  The 
seven  kine  are  seven  years;  and  the 
seven  good  ears  are  seven  years:  the  dream 
is  one.  .  .  .  And  for  that  the  dream  was 
doubled  unto  Pharaoh  twice,  it  is  because 
the  thing  is  established."  .  .  . 

In  other  words:  Behind  three  or  four  sub 
titles  and  changes  of  time,  scene,  characters, 
this  tale  of  strong  hearts  is  one.  And  for 
that  the  tale  is  tripled  or  quadrupled  unto 
you  three  or  four  times  (the  number  will 
depend);  it  is  because  in  each  of  its  three 
or  four  aspects — or  separate  stories,  if  you 
insist — it  sets  forth,  in  heroic  natures  and 
poetic  fates,  a  principle  which  seems  to  me 
so  universal  that  I  think  Joseph  would  say 
of  it  also,  as  he  said  to  the  sovereign  of 
Egypt,  "  The  thing  is  established  of  God." 
3 


Strong  Hearts 

I  Joiow  no  better  way  to  state  this  prin 
ciple/ being  a  man,  not  of  letters,  but  of 
.  cbiprn.erce  (and  finance),  than  to  say — 
what  I  fear  I  never  should  have  learned 
had  I  not  known  the  men  and  women  I 
here  tell  of — that  religion  without  poetry 
is  as  dead  a  thing  as  poetry  without  re 
ligion.  In  our  practical  use  of  them,  I 
mean;  their  infusion  into  all  our  doing  and 
being.  As  dry  as  a  mummy,  great  Joseph 
would  say. 

Shall  I  be  more  explicit?  Taking  that 
great  factor  of  life  which  men,  with  count 
less  lights,  shades,  narrownesses  and 
breadths  of  meaning,  call  Religion,  and 
taking  it  in  the  largest  sense  we  can  give  it ; 
in  like  manner  taking  Poetry  in  the  largest 
sense  possible;  this  cluster  of  tales  is  one, 
because  from  each  of  its  parts,  with  no  ar 
gument  but  the  souls  and  fates  they  tell  of, 
it  illustrates  the  indivisible  twinship  of 
Poetry  and  Religion;  a  oneness  of  office 
and  of  culmination,  which,  as  they  reach 
their  highest  plane,  merges  them  into  iden 
tity.  Is  that  any  clearer?  You  see  I  am 
no  scientist  or  philosopher,  and  I  do  not 
4 


The  Solitary 

stand  at  any  dizzy  height,  even  in  my  regu 
lar  business  of  banking  and  insurance,  ex 
cept  now  and  then  when  my  colleagues  of 
the  clearing-house  or  board  want  some 
thing  drawn  up — "  Whereas,  the  inscrutable 
wisdom  of  Providence  has  taken  from 
among  us  " — something  like  that. 

I  tell  the  stories  as  I  saw  them  occur. 
I  tell  them  for  your  entertainment;  the 
truth  they  taught  me  you  may  do  what  you 
please  with.  It  was  exemplified  in  some  of 
these  men  and  women  by  their  failure  to 
incarnate  it.  Others,  through  the  stained 
glass  of  their  imperfect  humanity,  showed 
it  forth  alive  and  alight  in  their  own  souls 
and  bodies.  One  there  was  who  never 
dreamed  he  was  a  bright  example  of  any 
thing,  in  a  world  which,  you  shall  find  him 
saying,  God — or  somebody — whoever  is  re 
sponsible  for  civilization — had  made  only 
too  good  and  complex  and  big  for  him. 
We  may  hold  that  to  make  life  a  perfect, 
triumphant  poem  we  must  keep  in  beautiful, 
untyrannous  subordination  every  impulse 
of  mere  self-provision,  whether  earthly  or 
heavenly,  while  at  the  same  time  we  give  life 
5 


Strong  Hearts 

its  equatorial  circumference.  I  know  that 
he  so  believed.  Yet,  under  no  better  con 
scious  motive  than  an  impulse  of  pure  self- 
preservation,  finding  his  spiritual  breadth 
and  stature  too  small  for  half  the  practical 
demands  of  such  large  theories,  he  humbly 
set  to  work  to  narrow  down  the  circum 
ference  of  his  life  to  limits  within  which  he 
might  hope  to  turn  some  of  its  daily  issues 
into  good  poetry.  This  is  the  main  reason 
why  I  tell  of  him  first,  and  why  the  parts  of 
my  story — or  the  stories — do  not  fall  into 
chronological  order.  I  break  that  order 
with  impunity,  and  adopt  that  which  I  be 
lieve  to  be  best  in  the  interest  of  Poetry  and 
themselves.  Only  do  not  think  hard  if  I 
get  more  interested  in  the  story,  or  stories, 
than  in  the  interpretation  thereof. 


The  Solitary 


II 

THE  man  of  whom  I  am  speaking  was 
a  tallish,  slim  young  fellow,  shaped  well 
enough,  though  a  trifle  limp  for  a  Louisi- 
anian  in  the  Mississippi  (Confederate)  cav 
alry.  Some  camp  wag  had  fastened  on  him 
the  nickname  of  "  Crackedfiddle."  Our  ac 
quaintance  began  more  than  a  year  before 
Lee's  surrender;  but  Gregory  came  out  of 
the  war  without  any  startling  record,  and 
the  main  thing  I  tell  of  him  occurred  some 
years  later. 

I  never  saw  him  under  arms  or  in  uni 
form.  I  met  him  first  at  the  house  of  a 
planter,  where  I  was  making  the  most  of  a 
flesh-wound,  and  was,  myself,  in  uniform 
simply  because  I  hadn't  any  other  clothes. 
There  were  pretty  girls  in  the  house,  and 
as  his  friends  and  fellow-visitors — except 
me — wore  the  gilt  bars  of  commissioned 
rank  on  their  gray  collars,  and  he,  as  a  pri 
vate,  had  done  nothing  glorious,  his  appear 
ance  was  always  in  civilian's  dress.  Black 
he  wore,  from  head  to  foot,  in  the  cut  fash- 
7 


Strong  Hearts 

ionable  in  New  Orleans  when  the  war 
brought  fashion  to  a  stand :  coat-waist  high, 
skirt  solemnly  long;  sleeves  and  trousers 
small  at  the  hands  and  feet,  and  puffed  out 
— phew!  in  the  middle.  The  whole  scheme 
was  dandyish,  dashing,  zou-zou;  and  when 
he  appeared  in  it,  dark,  good-looking,  loose, 
languorous,  slow  to  smile  and  slower  to 
speak,  it  was — confusing. 

One  sunset  hour  as  I  sat  alone  on  the 
planter's  veranda  immersed  in  a  romance, 
I  noticed,  too  late  to  offer  any  serviceable 
warning,  this  impressive  black  suit  and  its 
ungenerously  nicknamed  contents  coming 
in  at  the  gate  unprotected.  Dogs,  in  the 
South,  in  those  times,  were  not  the  caressed 
and  harmless  creatures  now  so  common.  A 
Mississippi  planter's  watch-dogs  were  kept 
for  their  vigilant  and  ferocious  hostility  to 
the  negro  of  the  quarters  and  to  all  strang 
ers.  One  of  these,  a  powerful,  notorious, 
bloodthirsty  brute,  long-bodied,  deer-legged 
— you  may  possibly  know  that  big  breed 
the  planters  called  the  "  cur-dog "  and 
prized  so  highly — darted  out  of  hiding  and 
silently  sprang  at  the 
8 


The  Solitary 

Gregory  swerved,  and  the  brute's  fangs, 
whirling  by  his  face,  closed  in  the  sleeve 
and  rent  it  from  shoulder  to  elbow.  At  the 
same  time  another,  one  of  the  old  "  bear- 
dog  "  breed,  was  coming  as  fast  as  the  light 
block  and  chain  he  had  to  drag  would  al 
low  him.  Gregory  neither  spoke,  nor 
moved  to  attack  or  retreat.  At  my  outcry 
the  dogs  slunk  away,  and  he  asked  me, 
diffidently,  for  a  thing  which  was  very 
precious  in  those  days — pins. 

But  he  was  quickly  surrounded  by  pity 
ing  eyes  and  emotional  voices,  and  was 
coaxed  into  the  house,  where  the  young 
ladies  took  his  coat  away  to  mend  it.  While 
he  waited  for  it  in  my  room  I  spoke  of  the 
terror  so  many  brave  men  had  of  these  fierce 
home-guards.  I  knew  one  such  beast  that 
was  sired  of  a  wolf.  He  heard  me  with 
downcast  eyes,  at  first  with  evident  pleasure, 
but  very  soon  quite  gravely. 

"  They  can  afford  to  fear  dogs,"  he  re 
plied,  "  when  they've  got  no  other  fear." 
And  when  I  would  have  it  that  he  had 
shown  a  stout  heart  he  smiled  rue 
fully. 

9 


Strong  Hearts 

"  I  do  everything  through  weakness,"  he 
soliloquized,  and,  taking  my  book,  opened 
it  as  if  to  dismiss  our  theme.  But  I  bade 
him  turn  to  the  preface,  where — heavily 
scored  by  the  same  feminine  hand  which 
had  written  on  the  blank  leaf  opposite, 
'"  Richard  Thorndyke  Smith,  from  C.  O." 
— we  read  something  like  this: 

The  seed  of  heroism  is  in  all  of  us.  Else 
we  should  not  forever  relish,  as  we  do, 
stories  of  peril,  temptation,  and  exploit. 
Their  true  zest  is  no  mere  ticklement  of  our 
curiosity  or  wonder,  but  comradeship  with 
souls  that  have  courage  in  danger,  faithful 
ness  under  trial,  or  magnanimity  in  triumph 
or  defeat.  We  have,  moreover,  it  went  on 
to  say,  a  care  for  human  excellence  in  gen 
eral,  by  reason  of  which  we  want  not  alone 
our  son,  or  cousin,  or  sister,  but  man  every 
where,  the  norm,  man,  to  be  strong,  sweet, 
and  true;  and  reading  stories  of  such,  we 
feel  this  wish  rebound  upon  us  as  duty 
sweetened  by  a  new  hope,  and  have  a  new 
yearning  for  its  fulfilment  in  ourselves. 

"  In  short,"  said  I,  closing  the  book, 
"  those  imaginative  victories  of  soul  over 
10 


The  Solitary 

circumstance  become  essentially  ours  by 
sympathy  and  emulation,  don't  they?  " 

"  O  yes,"  he  sighed,  and  added  an  indis 
tinct  word  about  "  spasms  of  virtue."  But 
I  claimed  a  special  charm  and  use  for  unex 
pected  and  detached  heroisms,  be  they  fact 
or  fiction.  "  If  adventitious  virtue,"  I  ar 
gued,  "  can  spring  up  from  unsuspected 
seed  and  without  the  big  roots  of  char 
acter " 

"  You  think,"  interrupted  Gregory, 
"  there's  a  fresh  chance  for  me." 

"  For  all  the  common  run  of  us!  "  I  cried. 
"  Why  not?  And  even  if  there  isn't,  hasn't 
it  a  beauty  and  a  value  ?  Isn't  a  rose  a  rose, 
on  the  bush  or  off?  Gold  is  gold  wherever 
you  find  it,  and  the  veriest  spasm  of  true 
virtue,  coined  into  action,  is  true  virtue,  and 
counts.  It  may  not  work  my  nature's 
whole  redemption,  but  it  works  that  way, 
and  is  just  so  much  solid  help  toward  the 
whole  world's  uplift."  I  was  young  enough 
then  to  talk  in  that  manner,  and  he  actually 
took  comfort  in  my  words,  confessing  that 
it  had  been  his  way  to  count  a  good  act 
which  was  not  in  character  with  its  doer 
ii 


Strong  Hearts 

as  something  like  a  dead  loss  to  every 
body. 

"I'm  glad  it's  not,"  he  said,  "for  I 
reckon  my  ruling  motive  is  always  fear." 

"  Was  it  fear  this  evening?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  it  was.  It  was  fear 
of  a  coward's  name,  and  a  sort  of  abject 
horror  of  being  one." 

"  Too  big  a  coward  inside,"  I  laughed, 
"  to  be  a  big  stout  coward  outside,"  and 
he  assented. 

"  Smith,"  he  said,  and  paused  long,  "  if 
I  were  a  hard  drinker  and  should  try  to 
quit,  it  wouldn't  be  courage  that  would 
carry  me  through,  but  fear;  quaking  fear 
of  a  drunkard's  life  and  a  drunkard's  death." 

I  was  about  to  rejoin  that  the  danger  was 
already  at  his  door,  but  he  read  the  warn 
ing  accusation  in  my  eye. 

"  I'm  afraid  so,"  he  responded.  "  I  had 
a  strange  experience  once,"  he  presently 
added,  as  if  reminded  of  it  by  what  we  had 
last  said.  "  I  took  a  prisoner." 

"  By  the  overwhelming  power  of  fear?  " 
I  inquired. 

"  Partly,  yes.  I  saw  him  before  he  saw 
12 


The  Solitary 

me  and  I  felt  that  if  I  didn't  take  him  he'd 
either  take  me  or  shoot  me,  so  I  covered 
him  and  he  surrendered.  We  were  in  an 
old  pine  clearing  grown  up  with  oak 
bushes." 

"  Would  it  have  been  less  strange,"  I  in 
quired,  "  if  you  had  been  in  an  old  oak 
clearing  grown  up  with  pine  bushes?  " 
"  No,  he'd  have  got  away  just  the  same." 
"What!  you  didn't  bring  him  in?" 
"  Only  part  of  the  way.    Then  he  broke 
and  ran." 

"  And  you  had  to  shoot  him?  " 
"  No,  I  didn't  even  shoot  at  him.  I 
couldn't,  Smith;  he  looked  so  much  like  me. 
It  was  like  seeing  my  own  ghost.  All  the 
time  I  had  him  something  kept  saying  to 
me,  '  You're  your  own  prisoner — you're 
your  own  prisoner/  And — do  you  know? 
— that  thing  comes  back  to  me  now  every 
time  I  get  into  the  least  sort  of  a  tight 
place!" 

"  I  wish  it  would  come  to  me,"  I  re 
sponded.  A  slave  girl  brought  his  coat  and 
our  talk  remained  unfinished  until  five  years 
after  the  war. 

'3 


Strong  Hearts 


III 

GREGORY  had  been  brought  up  on  the 
shore  of  Mississippi  Sound,  a  beautiful 
region  fruitful  mainly  in  apathy  of  char 
acter.  He  was  a  skilled  lover  of  sail-boats. 
When  we  all  got  back  to  New  Orleans, 
paroled,  and  cast  about  for  a  living  in  the 
various  channels  "  open  to  gentlemen,"  he, 
largely,  I  think,  owing  to  his  timid  notion 
of  his  worth,  went  into  the  rough  business 
of  owning  and  sailing  a  small,  handsome 
schooner  in  the  "  Lake  trade,"  which,  you 
know,  includes  Mississippi  Sound.  I  mar 
ried,  and  for  some  time  he  liked  much  to 
come  and  see  us — on  rainy  evenings,  when 
he  knew  we  should  be  alone.  He  was  in  love 
yet,  as  he  had  been  when  we  were  fellow- 
absentees  from  camp,  and  with  the  same 
girl.  But  his  passion  had  never  presumed 
to  hope,  and  the  girl  was  of  too  true  a  sort 
ever  to  thrust  hope  upon  him.  What  his 
love  lacked  in  courage  it  made  up  in  con 
stancy,  however,  and  morning,  noon,  and 
night — sometimes  midnight  too,  I  venture 
M 


The  Solitary 

to  say — his  all  too  patient  heart  had  bowed 
mutely  down  toward  its  holy  city  across  the 
burning  sands  of  his  diffidence.  When  an 
other  fellow  stepped  in  and  married  her, 
he  simply  loved  on,  in  the  same  innocent, 
dumb,  harmless  way  as  before.  He  gave 
himself  some  droll  consolations.  One  of 
these  was  a  pretty,  sJoop-rigged  sail-boat, 
trim  and  swift,  on  which  he  lavished  the  ten 
dernesses  he  knew  he  should  never  bestow 
upon  any  living  she.  He  named  her  Sweet 
heart;  a  general  term;  but  he  knew  that  we 
all  knew  it  meant  the  mender  of  his  coat. 
By  and  by  his  visits  fell  off  and  I  met  him 
oftenest  on  the  street.  Sometimes  we 
stopped  for  a  moment's  sidewalk  chat,  New 
Orleans  fashion,  and  I  still  envied  the  clear 
bronze  of  his  fine  skin,  which  the  rest  of  us 
had  soon  lost.  But  after  a  while  certain 
changes  began  to  show  for  the  worse,  until 
one  day  in  the  summer  of  the  fifth  year  he 
tried  to  hurry  by  me.  I  stopped  him,  and 
was  thinking  what  a  handsome  fellow  he 
was  even  yet,  with  such  a  quiet,  modest 
fineness  about  him,  when  he  began,  with  a 
sudden  agony  of  face,  "  My  schooner's  sold 


Strong  Hearts 

for  debt!  You  know  the  reason;  I've  seen 
you  read  it  all  over  me  every  time  we  have 
met,  these  twelve  months — O  don't  look  at 
me!" 

His  slim,  refined  hands — he  gave  me  both 
— were  clammy  and  tremulous.  "  Yes,"  he 
babbled  on,  "it's  a  fixed  fact,  Smith;  the 
cracked  fiddle's  a  smashed  fiddle  at  last!  " 

I  drew  him  out  of  the  hot  sun  and  into  a 
secluded  archway,  he  talking  straight  on 
with  a  speed  and  pitiful  grandiloquence 
totally  unlike  him.  "  I've  finished  all  the 
easy  parts — the  first  ecstasies  of  pure  license 
— the  long  down-hill  plunge,  with  all  its  mad 
exhilarations — the  wild  vanity  of  venturing 
and  defying — that  bigness  of  the  soul's  ex 
periences  which  makes  even  its  anguish 
seem  finer  than  the  old  bitterness  of  tame 
propriety — they  are  all  behind  me,  now — 
the  valley  of  horrors  is  before!  You  can't 
understand  it,  Smith.  O  you  can't  under 
stand " 

O  couldn't  I!  And,  anyhow,  one  does 
not  have  to  put  himself  through  a  whole 
criminal  performance  to  apprehend  its  spir 
itual  experiences.  I  understood  all,  and 
16 


The  Solitary 

especially  what  he  unwittingly  betrayed 
even  now;  that  deep  thirst  for  the  dramatic 
element  in  one's  own  life,  which,  when  so 
cial  conformity  fails  to  supply  it,  becomes,  to 
an  eager  soul,  sin's  cunningest  allurement. 

I  tried  to  talk  to  him.  "  Gregory,  that 
day  the  dogs  jumped  on  you — you  remem 
ber? — didn't  you  say  if  ever  you  should 
reach  this  condition  your  fear  might  save 
you?" 

He  stared  at  me  a  moment.  "  Do  you  " 
— a  ray  of  humor  lighted  his  eyes — "  do  you 
still  believe  in  spasms  of  virtue?  " 

"  Thank  heaven,  yes!  "  laughed  I. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said,  and  was  gone. 

I  heard  of  him  twice  afterward  that  day. 
About  noon  some  one  coming  into  the  of 
fice  said:  "I  just  now  saw  Crackedfiddle 
buying  a  great  lot  of  powder  and  shot  and 
fishing-tackle.  Here's  a  note.  He  says 
first  read  it  and  then  seal  it  and  send  it  to 
his  aunt."  It  read: 

"Don't  look  for  me.  You  can't  find  me. 
I'm  not  going  to  kill  or  hurt  myself,  and  I'll 
report  again  in  a  month.'9 

I  delivered  it  in  person  on  my  way  up- 


Strong  Hearts 

town,  advising  his  kinswoman  to  trust  him 
on  his  own  terms  and  hope  for  the  best. 
Privately,  of  course,  I  was  distressed,  and 
did  not  become  less  so  when,  on  reaching 
home,  Mrs.  Smith  told  me  that  he  had  been 
there  and  borrowed  an  arm-load  of  books, 
saying  he  might  return  some  of  them  in 
a  month,  but  would  probably  keep  others 
for  two.  So  he  did;  and  one  evening,  when 
he  brought  the  last  of  them  back,  he  told 
us  fully,  spiritual  experiences  and  all,  what 
had  occurred  to  him  in  the  interval. 

The  sale  of  the  schooner  had  paid  its  debt 
and  left  him  some  cash  over.  Better  yet, 
it  had  saved  Sweetheart.  On  the  day  of  his 
disappearance  she  was  lying  at  the  head  of 
the  New  Basin,  distant  but  a  few  minutes' 
walk  from  the  spot  where  we  met  and 
talked.  When  he  left  me  he  went  there. 
At  the  stores  thereabout  he  bought  a  new 
hatchet  and  axe,  an  extra  water-keg  or  two, 
and  a  month's  provisions.  He  filled  all  the 
kegs,  stowed  everything  aboard,  and  by  the 
time  the  afternoon  had  half  waned  was 
rippling  down  the  New  Canal  under  mule- 
tow  with  a  strong  lake  breeze  in  his  face. 
18 


The  Solitary 

At  the  lake  (Pontchartrain),  as  the  tow- 
line  was  cast  off,  he  hoisted  sail,  and, 
skimming  out  by  lighthouse  and  break 
water,  tripped  away  toward  Pointe-aux- 
Herbes  and  the  eastern  skyline  beyond,  he 
and  Sweetheart  alone,  his  hand  clasping 
hers — the  tiller,  that  is — hour  by  hour,  and 
the  small  waves  tiptoeing  to  kiss  her  south 
ern  cheek  as  she  leaned  the  other  away  from 
the  saucy  north  wind.  In  time  the  low  land, 
and  then  the  lighthouse,  sank  and  van 
ished  behind  them;  on  the  left  the  sun  went 
down  in  the  purple-black  swamps  of  Man- 
chac;  the  intervening  waters  turned  crimson 
and  bronze  under  the  fairer  changes  of  the 
sky,  while  in  front  of  them  Fort  Pike  Light 
began  to  glimmer  through  an  opal  haze, 
and  by  and  by  to  draw  near.  It  passed. 
From  a  large  inbound  schooner  gliding  by 
in  the  twilight,  came  in  friendly  recognition, 
the  drone  of  a  conch-shell,  the  last  happy 
salutation  Sweetheart  was  ever  to  receive. 
Then  the  evening  star  silvered  their  wake 
through  the  deep  Rigolets,  and  the  rising 
moon  met  them,  her  and  her  lover,  in  Lake 
Borgne,  passing  the  dark  pines  of  Round 


Strong  Hearts 

Island,  and  hurrying  on  toward  the  white 
sand-keys  of  the  Gulf. 

The  night  was  well  advanced  as  they 
neared  the  pine-crested  dunes  of  Cat  Island, 
in  whose  lee  a  more  cautious  sailor  would 
have  dropped  anchor  till  the  morning.  But 
to  this  pair  every  mile  of  these  fickle  waters, 
channel  and  mud-lump,  snug  lagoon,  open 
sea  and  hidden  bar,  each  and  all,  were 
known  as  the  woods  are  known  to  a  hunter, 
and,  as  he  drew  her  hand  closer  to  his  side, 
she  turned  across  the  track  of  the  moon 
and  bounded  into  the  wide  south.  A  maze 
of  marsh  islands — huddling  along  that  nar 
row,  half-drowned  mainland  of  cypress 
swamp  and  trembling  prairie  which  follows 
the  Mississippi  out  to  sea — slept,  leagues 
away,  below  the  western  waters.  In  the 
east  lay  but  one  slender  boundary  between 
the  voyager  and  the  shoreless  deep,  and  this 
was  so  near  that  from  its  farther  edge  came 
now  and  again  its  admonishing  murmur, 
the  surf-thunder  of  the  open  Gulf  rolling 
forever  down  the  prone  but  unshaken  battle- 
front  of  the  sandy  Chandeleurs. 


20 


The  Solitary 


IV 

So  all  night,  lest  wind  or  resolve  should 
fail  next  day,  he  sailed.  How  to  tell  just 
where  dawn  found  him  I  scarcely  know. 

Somewhere  in  that  blue  wilderness,  with 
no  other  shore  in  sight,  yet  not  over  three 
miles  northeast  of  a  "  pass  "  between  two 
long  tide-covered  sand-reefs,  a  ferment  of 
delta  silt — if  science  guesses  right — had 
lifted  higher  than  most  of  the  islands  be 
hind  it  in  the  sunken  west  one  mere  islet  in 
the  shape  of  a  broad  crescent,  with  its  out 
ward  curve  to  seaward  and  a  deep,  slender 
lagoon  on  the  landward  side  filling  the 
whole  length  of  its  bight.  About  half  the 
island  was  flat  and  was  covered  with  those 
strong  marsh  grasses  for  which  you've  seen 
cattle,  on  the  mainland,  venture  so  hungrily 
into  the  deep  ooze.  The  rest,  the  southern 
half,  rose  in  dazzling  white  dunes  twenty 
feet  or  more  in  height  and  dappled  green 
with  patches  of  ragged  sod  and  thin  groups 
of  dwarfed  and  wind-flattened  shrubs.  As 
the  sun  rose,  Sweetheart  and  her  sailor 

21 


Strong  Hearts 

glided  through  a  gap  in  the  sand  reef  that 
closed  the  lagoon  in,  luffed,  and  as  a  great 
cloud  of  nesting  pelicans  rose  from  their 
dirty  town  on  the  flats,  ran  softly  upon  the 
inner  sands,  where  a  rillet,  a  mere  thread 
of  sweet  water,  trickled  across  the  white 
beach.  Here  he  waded  ashore  with  the 
utensils  and  provisions,  made  a  fire,  washed 
down  a  hot  breakfast  of  bacon  and  pone 
with  a  pint  of  black  coffee,  returned  to  his 
boat  and  slept  until  afternoon.  Wakened 
at  length  by  the  canting  of  the  sloop  with 
the  fall  of  the  tide,  he  rose,  rekindled  his 
fire,  cooked  and  ate  again,  smoked  two 
pipes,  and  then,  idly  shouldering  his  gun, 
made  a  long  half-circuit  of  the  beach  to 
south  and  eastward,  mounted  the  highest 
dune  and  gazed  far  and  wide. 

Nowhere  on  sand  or  sea  under  the  illim 
itable  dome  was  there  sign  of  human  pres 
ence  on  the  earth.  Nor  would  there  likely 
be  any.  Except  by  misadventure  no  ship 
on  any  course  ever  showed  more  than  a 
topmast  above  this  horizon.  Of  the  hunters 
and  fishermen  who  roamed  the  islands 
nearer  shore,  with  the  Chandeleurs,  the 

22 


The  Solitary 

storm-drowned  Grand  Gosiers  and  the 
deep-sea  fishing  grounds  beyond,  few  knew 
the  way  hither,  and  fewer  ever  sailed  it.  At 
the  sound  of  his  gun  the  birds  of  the  beach 
— sea-snipe,  curlew,  plover — showed  the 
whites  of  their  wings  for  an  instant  and  fell 
to  feeding  again.  Save  when  the  swift  Wil 
derness — you  remember  the  revenue  cutter 
— chanced  this  way  on  her  devious  patrol, 
only  the  steamer  of  the  light-house  inspec 
tion  service,  once  a  month,  came  up  out 
of  the  southwest  through  yonder  channel 
and  passed  within  hail  on  her  wa'y  from  the 
stations  of  the  Belize  to  those  of  Mississippi 
Sound ;  and  he  knew — had  known  before 
he  left  the  New  Basin — that  she  had  just 
gone  by  here  the  day  before. 

But  to  Gregory  this  solitude  brought  no 
quick  distress.  With  a  bird  or  two  at  his 
belt  he  turned  again  toward  his  dying  fire. 
Once  on  the  way  he  paused,  as  he  came  in 
sight  of  the  sloop,  and  gazed  upon  it  with 
a  faintness  of  heart  he  had  not  known  since 
his  voyage  began.  However,  it  presently 
left  him,  and  hurrying  down  to  her  side  he 
began  to  unload  her  completely,  and  to 
23 


Strong  Hearts 

make  a  permanent  camp  in  the  lee  of  a  ridge 
of  sand  crested  with  dwarfed  casino  bushes, 
well  up  from  the  beach.  The  night  did  not 
stop  him,  and  by  the  time  he  was  tired 
enough  for  sleep  he  had  lightened  the  boat 
of  everything  stowed  into  her  the  previous 
day.  Before  sunrise  he  was  at  work  again, 
removing  her  sandbags,  her  sails,  flags, 
cordage,  even  her  spars.  The  mast  would 
have  been  heavy  for  two  men  to  handle, 
but  he  got  it  out  whole,  though  not  without 
hurting  one  hand  so  painfully  that  he  had 
to  lie  off  for  over  two  hours.  But  by  mid 
day  he  was  busy  again,  and  when  at  low 
water  poor  Sweetheart  comfortably  turned 
upon  her  side  on  the  odorous,  clean  sand,  it 
was  never  more  to  rise.  The  keen,  new  axe 
of  her  master  ended  her  days. 

"No!  O  no!"  he  said  to  me,  "call  it 
anything  but  courage !  I  felt — I  don't  want 
to  be  sentimental — I'm  sure  I  was  not  sen 
timental  at  the  time,  but — I  felt  as  though 
I  were  a  murderer.  All  I  knew  was  that  it 
had  to  be  done.  I  trembled  like  a  thief. 
I  had  to  stoop  twice  before  I  could  take  up 
the  axe,  and  I  was  so  cold  my  teeth  chat- 
24 


The  Solitary 

tered.  When  I  lifted  the  first  blow  I  didn't 
know  where  it  was  going  to  fall.  But  it 
struck  as  true  as  a  die,  and  then  I  flew  at 
it.  I  never  chopped  so  fast  or  clean  in  my 
life.  I  wasn't  fierce;  I  was  as  full  of  self- 
delight  as  an  overpraised  child.  And  yet 
when  something  delayed  me  an  instant  I 
found  I  was  still  shaking.  Courage,"  said 
he,  "  O  no;  I  know  what  it  was,  and  I  knew 
then.  But  I  had  no  choice;  it  was  my  last 
chance." 

I  told  him  that  anyone  might  have 
thought  him  a  madman  chopping  up  his 
last  chance. 

"Maybe  so,"  he  replied,  "but  I  wasn't; 
it  was  the  one  sane  thing  I  could  do; "  and 
he  went  on  to  tell  me  that  when  night  fell 
the  tallest  fire  that  ever  leapt  from  those 
sands  blazed  from  Sweetheart's  piled  ribs 
and  keel. 

It  was  proof  to  him  of  his  having  been 
shrewd,  he  said,  that  for  many  days  he  felt 
no  repentance  of  the  act  nor  was  in  the  least 
lonely.  There  was  an  infinite  relief  merely 
in  getting  clean  away  from  the  huge  world 
of  men,  with  all  its  exactions  and  tempta- 
25 


Strong  Hearts 

tions  and  the  myriad  rebukes  and  rebuffs 
of  its  crass  propriety  and  thrift.  He  had 
endured  solitude  enough  in  it;  the  secret 
loneliness  of  a  spiritual  bankruptcy.  Here 
was  life  begun  over,  with  none  to  make  new 
debts  to  except  nature  and  himself,  and  no 
besetments  but  his  own  circumvented  pro 
pensities.  What  humble,  happy  master- 
hood!  Each  dawn  he  rose  from  dreamless 
sleep  and  leaped  into  the  surf  as  into  the 
embrace  of  a  new  existence.  Every  hour 
of  day  brought  some  unfretting  task  or  hale 
pastime.  With  sheath-knife  and  sail-needle 
he  made  of  his  mainsail  a  handsome  tent, 
using  the  mainboom  for  his  ridge-pole,  and 
finishing  it  just  in  time  for  the  first  night  of 
rain — when,  nevertheless,  he  lost  all  his 
coffee ! 

He  did  not  waste  toil.  He  hoarded  its 
opportunities  as  one  might  husband  salt  on 
the  mountains  or  water  in  the  desert,  and 
loitering  in  well  calculated  idleness  between 
thoughts  many  and  things  of  sea  and  shore 
innumerable,  filled  the  intervals  from  labor 
to  labor  with  gentle  entertainment.  Sky 
ward  ponderings  by  night,  canny  discov- 
26 


The  Solitary 

cries  under  foot  by  day,  quickened  his  mind 
and  sight  to  vast  and  to  minute  significan- 
cies,  until  they  declared  an  Author  known 
to  him  hitherto  only  by  tradition.  Every 
acre  of  the  barren  islet  grew  fertile  in  beau 
ties  and  mysteries,  and  a  handful  of  sand  at 
the  door  of  his  tent  held  him  for  hours 
guessing  the  titanic  battles  that  had  ground 
the  invincible  quartz  to  that  crystal  meal 
and  fed  it  to  the  sea. 

I  may  be  more  rhetorical  than  he  was, 
but  he  made  all  the  more  of  these  condi 
tions  while  experiencing  them,  because  he 
knew  they  could  not  last  out  the  thirty  days, 
nor  half  the  thirty,  and  took  modest  com 
fort  in  a  will  strong  enough  to  meet  all 
present  demands,  well  knowing  there  was 
one  exigency  yet  to  arise,  one  old  usurer 
still  to  be  settled  with  who  had  not  yet 
brought  in  his  dun. 


27 


Strong  Hearts 


IT  came — began  to  come — in  the  middle 
of  the  second  week.  At  its  familiar  ap 
proach  he  felt  no  dismay,  save  a  certain 
inert  dismay  that  it  brought  none.  Three, 
four,  five  times  he  went  bravely  to  the  rill, 
drowned  his  thirst  and  called  himself  satis 
fied;  but  the  second  day  was  worse  than 
the  first;  the  craving  seemed  better  than 
the  rill's  brief  cure  of  it,  and  once  he  rose 
straight  from  drinking  of  the  stream  and 
climbed  the  dune  to  look  for  a  sail. 

He  strove  in  vain  to  labor.  The  pleasures 
of  toil  were  as  stale  as  those  of  idleness. 
His  books  were  put  aside  with  a  shudder, 
and  he  walked  abroad  with  a  changed  gait; 
the  old  extortioner  was  levying  on  his 
nerves.  And  on  his  brain.  He  dreamed 
that  night  of  war  times ;  found  himself  com 
mander  of  a  whole  battery  of  heavy  guns, 
and  lo,  they  were  all  quaker  cannon.  When 
he  would  have  fled,  monstrous  terrors  met 
him  at  every  turn,  till  he  woke  and  could 
sleep  no  more.  Dawn  widened  over  sky 
28 


The  Solitary 

and  sea,  but  its  vast  beauty  only  mocked 
the  castaway.  All  day  long  he  wandered 
up  and  down  and  along  and  across  his  glit 
tering  prison,  no  tiniest  speck  of  canvas, 
no  faintest  wreath  of  smoke,  on  any  water's 
edge;  the  horror  of  his  isolation  growing 
— growing — like  the  monsters  of  his  dream, 
and  his  whole  nature  wild  with  a  desire 
which  was  no  longer  a  mere  physical 
drought,  but  a  passion  of  the  soul,  that  gave 
the  will  an  unnatural  energy  and  set  at 
naught  every  true  interest  of  earth  and 
heaven.  Again  and  again  he  would  have 
shrieked  its  anguish,  but  the  first  note  of 
his  voice  rebuked  him  to  silence  as  if  he 
had  espied  himself  in  a  glass.  He  fell  on 
his  face  voiceless,  writhing,  and  promised 
himself,  nay,  pledged  creation  and  its 
Creator,  that  on  the  day  of  his  return  to 
the  walks  of  men  he  would  drink  the  cup  of 
madness  and  would  drink  it  thenceforth  till 
he  died. 

When  night  came  again  he  paced  the 

sands  for  hours  and  then  fell  to  work  to 

drag   by   long   and   toiling   zigzags   to    a 

favorable  point  on  the  southern  end  of  the 

29 


Strong  Hearts 

island  the  mast  he  had  saved,  and  to  raise 
there  a  flag  of  distress.  In  the  shortness 
of  his  resources  he  dared  not  choose  the 
boldest  exposures,  where  the  first  high  wind 
would  cast  it  down;  but  where  he  placed  it 
it  could  be  seen  from  every  quarter  except 
the  north,  and  any  sail  approaching  from 
that  direction  was  virtually  sure  to  come 
within  hail  even  of  the  voice. 

Day  had  come  again  as  he  left  the  fin 
ished  task,  and  once  more  from  the  highest 
wind-built  ridge  his  hungering  eyes  swept 
the  round  sea's  edge.  But  he  saw  no  sail. 
Nerveless  and  exhausted  he  descended  to 
the  southeastern  beach  and  watched  the 
morning  brighten.  The  breezes,  that  for 
some  time  had  slept,  fitfully  revived,  and 
the  sun  leaped  from  the  sea  and  burned  its 
way  through  a  low  bank  of  dark  and  ruddy 
clouds  with  so  unusual  a  splendor  that  the 
beholder  was  in  some  degree  both  quick 
ened  and  tranquillized.  He  could  even  play 
at  self-command,  and  in  child  fashion  bound 
himself  not  to  mount  the  dunes  again  for  a 
northern  look  within  an  hour.  This  south 
ern  half-circle  must  suffice.  Indeed,  unless 
30 


The  Solitary 

these  idle  zephyrs  should  amend,  no  sail 
could  in  that  time  draw  near  enough  to 
notice  any  signal  he  could  offer. 

Playing  at  self-command  gave  him  some 
earnest  of  it.  In  a  whim  of  the  better  man 
he  put  off  his  clothes  and  sprang  into  the 
breakers.  He  had  grown  chill,  but  a  long 
wrestle  with  the  surf  warmed  his  blood,  and 
as  he  reclothed  himself  and  with  a  better 
step  took  his  way  along  the  beach  toward 
his  tent  a  returning  zest  of  manhood  re 
freshed  his  spirit.  The  hour  was  up,  but  in 
a  kind  of  equilibrium  of  impulses  and  with 
much  emptiness  of  mind,  he  let  it  lengthen 
on,  made  a  fire,  and  for  the  first  time  in  two 
days  cooked  food.  He  ate  and  still  tarried. 
A  brand  in  his  camp  fire,  a  piece  from  the 
remnant  of  his  boat,  made  beautiful  flames. 
He  idly  cast  in  another  and  was  pleased  to 
find  himself  sitting  there  instead  of  gazing 
his  eyes  out  for  sails  that  never  rose  into 
view.  He  watched  a  third  brand  smoke 
and  blaze.  And  then,  as  tamely  as  if  the 
new  impulse  were  only  another  part  of  a 
continued  abstraction,  he  arose  and  once 
more  climbed  the  sandy  hills.  The  highest 


Strong  Hearts 

was  some  distance  from  his  camp.  At  one 
point  near  its  top  a  brief  northeastward 
glimpse  of  the  marsh's  outer  edge  and  the 
blue  waters  beyond  showed  at  least  that 
nothing  had  come  near  enough  to  raise  the 
pelicans.  But  the  instant  his  sight  cleared 
the  crown  of  the  ridge  he  rushed  forward, 
threw  up  his  arms,  and  lifted  his  voice  in 
a  long,  imploring  yell.  Hardly  two  miles 
away,  her  shapely  canvas  leaning  and  stif 
fening  in  the  augmented  breeze,  a  small 
yacht  had  just  gone  about,  and  with  twice 
the  speed  at  which  she  must  have  ap 
proached  was  hurrying  back  straight  into 
the  north. 

The  frantic  man  dashed  back  and  forth 
along  the  crest,  tossing  his  arms,  waving 
his  Madras  handkerchief,  cursing  himself 
for  leaving  his  gun  so  far  behind,  and  again 
and  again  repeating  his  vain  ahoys  in  wilder 
and  wilder  alternations  of  beseeching  and 
rage.  The  lessening  craft  flew  straight  on, 
no  ear  in  her  skilled  enough  to  catch  the 
distant  cry,  and  no  eye  alert  enough  to  scan 
the  dwindling  sand-hills.  He  ceased  to  call, 
but  still,  with  heavy  notes  of  distress  to  him- 
32 


The  Solitary 

self,  waved  and  waved,  now  here,  now  there, 
while  the  sail  grew  smaller  and  smaller.  At 
length  he  stopped  this  also  and  only  stood 
gazing.  Almost  on  first  sight  of  the  craft 
he  had  guessed  that  the  men  in  her  had 
taken  alarm  at  the  signs  of  changing 
weather,  and  seeing  the  freshening  smoke 
of  his  fire  had  also  inferred  that  earlier 
sportsmen  were  already  on  the  island.  Oh, 
if  he  could  have  fired  one  shot  when  she 
was  nearest!  But  already  she  was  as  hope 
lessly  gone  as  though  she  were  even  now 
below  the  horizon.  Suddenly  he  turned  and 
ran  down  to  his  camp.  Not  for  the  gun; 
not  in  any  new  hope  of  signalling  the  yacht. 
No,  no;  a  raft!  a  raft!  Deliverance  or  de 
struction,  it  should  be  at  his  own  hand  and 
should  wait  no  longer! 

A  raft  forthwith  he  set  about  to  make. 
Some  stout  portions  of  his  boat  were  still 
left.  Tough  shrubs  of  the  sand-hills  fur 
nished  trennels  and  suppler  parts.  Of  ropes 
there  was  no  lack.  The  mast  was  easily 
dragged  down  again  to  the  beach  to  be  once 
more  a  mast,  and  in  nervous  haste,  yet  with 
skill  and  thoroughness,  the  tent  was  ripped 
33 


Strong  Hearts 

up  and  remade  into  a  sail,  and  even  a  rude 
centreboard  was  rigged  in  order  that  one 
might  tack  against  unfavorable  winds. 

Winds,  at  nightfall,  when  the  thing  be 
gan  to  be  near  completion,  there  were  none. 
The  day's  sky  had  steadily  withdrawn  its 
favor.  The  sun  shone  as  it  sank  into  the 
waves,  but  in  the  northwest  and  southeast 
dazzling  thunderheads  swelled  from  the 
sea's  line  high  into  the  heavens,  and  in  the 
early  dusk  began  with  silent  kindlings  to 
challenge  each  other  to  battle.  As  night 
swiftly  closed  down  the  air  grew  unnatural 
ly  still.  From  the  toiler's  brow,  worse  than 
at  noon,  the  sweat  rolled  off,  as  at  last  he 
brought  his  work  to  a  close  by  the  glare  of 
his  leaping  camp-fire.  Now,  unless  he  meant 
only  to  perish,  he  must  once  more  eat  and 
sleep  while  he  might.  Then  let  the  storm 
fall ;  the  moment  it  was  safely  over  and  the 
wind  in  the  right  quarter  he  would  sail. 
As  for  the  thirst  which  had  been  such  a 
torture  while  thwarted,  now  that  it  ruled 
unchallenged,  it  was  purely  a  wild,  glad 
zeal  as  full  of  method  as  of  diligence.  But 
first  he  must  make  his  diminished  pro- 
34 


The  Solitary 

visions  and  his  powder  safe  against  the  ele 
ments  ;  and  this  he  did,  covering  them  with 
a  waterproof  stuff  and  burying  them  in  a 
northern  slope  of  sand. 

He  awoke  in  the  small  hours  of  the  night. 
The  stars  of  the  zenith  were  quenched. 
Blackness  walled  and  roofed  him  in  close 
about  his  crumbled  fire,  save  when  at  short 
er  and  shorter  intervals  and  with  more  and 
more  deafening  thunders  the  huge  clouds 
lit  up  their  own  forms,  writhing  one  upon 
another,  and  revealed  the  awe-struck  sea 
and  ghostly  sands  waiting  breathlessly  be 
low.  He  rose  to  lay  on  more  fuel,  and  while 
he  was  in  the  act  the  tornado  broke  upon 
him.  The  wind,  as  he  had  forecast,  came 
out  of  the  southeast.  In  an  instant  it  was 
roaring  and  hurtling  against  the  farther 
side  of  his  island  rampart  like  the  charge  of 
a  hundred  thousand  horse  and  tossing  the 
sand  of  the  dunes  like  blown  hair  into  the 
northwest,  while  the  rain  in  one  wild  deluge 
lashed  the  frantic  sea  and  weltering  lagoon 
as  with  the  whips  of  the  Furies. 

He  had  kept  the  sail  on  the  beach  for 
a  protection  from  the  storm,  but  before  he 
could  crawl  under  it  he  was  as  wet  as  though 


Strong  Hearts 

he  had  been  tossed  up  by  the  deep,  and  yet 
was  glad  to  gain  its  cover  from  the  blinding 
floods  and  stinging  sand.  Here  he  lay  for 
more  than  an  hour,  the  rage  of  the  tempest 
continually  growing,  the  heavens  in  a  con 
stant  pulsing  glare  of  lightnings,  their  ter 
rific  thunders  smiting  and  bellowing  round 
and  round  its  echoing  vault,  and  the  very 
island  seeming  at  times  to  stagger  back  and 
recover  again  as  it  braced  itself  against  the 
fearful  onsets  of  the  wind.  Snuggling  in 
his  sailcloth  burrow,  he  complacently  re 
called  an  earlier  storm  like  this,  which  he 
and  Sweetheart,  the  only  other  time  they 
ever  were  here,  had  tranquilly  weathered  in 
this  same  lagoon.  On  the  mainland,  in  that 
storm,  cane-  and  rice-fields  had  been  laid 
low  and  half  destroyed,  houses  had  been 
unroofed,  men  had  been  killed.  A  woman 
and  a  boy,  under  a  pecan  tree,  were  struck 
by  lightning ;  and  three  men  who  had  cov 
ered  themselves  with  a  tarpaulin  on  one  of 
the  wharves  in  New  Orleans  were  blown 
with  it  into  the  Mississippi,  poor  fellows, 
and  were  drowned;  a  fact  worthy  of  second 
consideration  in  the  present  juncture. 
36 


The  Solitary 

This  second  thought  had  hardly  been 
given  it  before  he  crept  hastily  from  his 
refuge  and  confronted  the  gale  in  quick 
alarm.  The  hurricane  was  veering  to  south 
ward.  Let  it  shift  but  a  point  or  two  more, 
and  its  entire  force  would  sweep  the  lagoon 
and  its  beach.  Before  long  the  change 
came.  The  mass  of  canvas  at  his  feet  leapt 
clear  of  the  ground  and  fell  two  or  three 
yards  away.  He  sprang  to  seize  it,  but  in 
the  same  instant  the  whole  storm — rain, 
wind,  and  sand — whirled  like  a  troop  of 
fiends  round  the  southern  end  of  the  island, 
the  ceaseless  lightnings  showing  the  way, 
and  came  tearing  and  howling  up  its  hither 
side.  The  white  sail  lifted,  bellied,  rolled, 
fell,  vaulted  into  the  air,  fell  again,  tumbled 
on,  and  at  the  foot  of  a  dune  stopped  until 
its  wind-buffeted  pursuer  had  almost  over 
taken  it.  Then  it  fled  again,  faster,  faster, 
higher,  higher  up  the  sandy  slope  to  its  top, 
caught  and  clung  an  instant  on  some  un 
seen  bush,  and  then  with  one  mad  bound 
into  the  black  sky,  unrolled,  widened  like  a 
phantom,  and  vanished  forever. 

Gregory  turned  in  desperation,  and  in  the 
37 


Strong  Hearts 

glare  of  the  lightning  looked  back  toward 
his  raft.  Great  waves  were  rolling  along 
and  across  the  slender  reef  in  wide  obliques 
and  beating  themselves  to  death  in  the  la 
goon,  or  sweeping  out  of  it  again  seaward 
at  its  more  northern  end.  On  the  dishev 
elled  crest  of  one  he  saw  his  raft,  and  on 
another  its  mast.  He  could  not  look  a  sec 
ond  time.  The  flying  sand  blinded  him  and 
cut  the  blood  from  his  face.  He  could  only 
cover  his  eyes  and  crawl  under  the  bushes 
in  such  poor  lee  as  he  could  find;  and  there, 
with  the  first  lull  of  the  storm,  heavy  with 
exhaustion  and  despair,  he  fell  asleep  and 
slept  until  far  into  the  day.  When  he  awoke 
the  tempest  was  over. 

Even  more  completely  the  tumult  within 
him  was  quieted.  He  rose  and  stood  forth 
mute  in  spirit  as  in  speech;  humbled,  yet 
content,  in  the  consciousness  that  having 
miserably  failed  first  to  save  himself  and 
then  to  rue  himself  back  to  destruction,  the 
hurricane  had  been  his  deliverer.  It  had 
spared  his  supplies,  his  ammunition,  his 
weapons,  only  hiding  them  deeper  under  the 
dune  sands;  but  scarce  a  vestige  of  his  camp 
38 


The  Solitary 

remained  and  of  his  raft  nothing.  As  once 
more  from  the  highest  sand-ridge  he  looked 
down  upon  the  sea  weltering  in  the  majestic 
after-heavings  of  its  passion,  at  the  eastern 
beach  booming  under  the  shock  of  its  lofty 
rollers,  and  then  into  the  sky  still  gray  with 
the  endless  flight  of  southward-hurrying 
scud,  he  felt  the  stir  of  a  new  attachment  to 
them  and  his  wild  prison,  and  pledged  al 
liance  with  them  thenceforth. 


VI 

HERE,  in  giving  me  his  account,  Gregory 
asked  me  if  that  sounded  sentimental.  I 
said  no,  and  thereupon  he  actually  tried  to 
apologize  to  me  as  though  I  were  a  pro 
fessional  story-teller,  for  having  had  so  few 
deep  feelings  in  the  moments  where  the  ro- 
mancists  are  supposed  to  place  them.  I  told 
him  what  I  had  once  seen  a  mechanic  do 
on  a  steep,  slated  roof  nearly  a  hundred 
feet  from  the  pavement.  He  had  faced 
around  from  his  work,  which  was  close  to 
the  ridge-tiles,  probably  to  kick  off  the 
39 


Strong  Hearts 

shabby  shoes  he  had  on,  when  some  hold 
failed  him  and  he  began  to  slide  toward  the 
eaves.  We  people  in  the  street  below  fairly 
moaned  our  horror,  but  he  didn't  utter  a 
sound.  He  held  back  with  all  his  skill,  one 
leg  thrust  out  in  front,  the  other  drawn  up 
with  the  knee  to  his  breast,  and  his  hands 
flattened  beside  him  on  the  slates,  but  he 
came  steadily  on  down  till  his  forward  foot 
passed  over  the  eaves  and  his  heel  caught 
on  the  tin  gutter.  Then  he  stopped.  We 
held  our  breath  below.  He  slowly  and 
cautiously  threw  off  one  shoe,  then  the 
other,  and  then  turned,  climbed  back  up  the 
roof  and  resumed  his  work.  And  we  two 
or  three  witnesses  down  in  the  street  didn't 
think  any  less  of  him  because  he  did  so 
without  any  show  of  our  glad  emotion. 

"O,  if  I  had  that  fellow's  nerve,"  said 
Gregory,  "that  would  be  another  thing!" 

My  wife  and  I  smiled  at  each  other. 
"  How  would  it  be  '  another  thing? ' !"  we 
asked.  "  Did  you  not  quietly  get  up  and 
begin  life  over  again  as  if  nothing  had  oc 
curred?" 

"  There  wasn't  anything  else  to  do,"  he 
40 


The  Solitary 

replied,  with  a  smile.  "  The  feelings  came 
later,  too,  in  an  easy  sort  o'  gradual  way. 
I  never  could  quite  make  out  how  men  get 
such  clear  notions  of  what  they  call  *  Provi 
dence/  but,  just  the  same,  I  know  by  ex 
perience  there's  all  the  difference  of  peace 
and  misery,  or  life  and  death,  whether  you're 
in  partnership  with  the  things  that  help  the 
world  on,  or  with  those  that  hold  it  back/* 

"  But  with  that  feeling,"  my  wife  asked, 
"  did  not  your  longing  for  our  human  world 
continue?  " 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  but  I  got  a  new  lik 
ing  for  it — although,  you  understand,  7 
never  had  anything  against  it,  of  course. 
It's  too  big  and  strong  for  me,  that's  all; 
and  that's  my  fault.  Your  man  on  that  slip 
pery  roof  kicking  his  shoes  off  is  a  sort  of 
parable  to  me.  If  your  hand  or  your  foot 
offend  you  and  you  have  to  cut  it  off,  that's 
a  physical  disablement,  and  bad  enough. 
But  when  your  gloves  and  your  shoes  are 
too  much  for  you,  and  you  have  to  pluck 
them  off  and  cast  them  from  you,  you  find 
each  one  is  a  great  big  piece  of  the  civilized 
world,  and  you  hardly  know  how  much  you 


Strong  Hearts 

did  like  it,  till  you've  lost  it.  And  still,  it's 
no  use  longing,  when  you  know  your  lim 
itations,  and  I  saw  I'd  got  to  keep  my  world 
trimmed  down  to  where  I  could  run  bare 
footed  on  the  sand." 

He  told  us  that  now  he  began  for  the 
first  time  since  coming  to  the  island,  to  find 
his  books  his  best  source  of  interest  and 
diversion.  He  learned,  he  said,  a  "way  of 
reading  by  which  sea,  sky,  book,  island,  and 
absent  humanity,  all  seemed  parts  of  one 
whole,  and  all  to  speak  together  in  one  har 
mony,  while  they  toiled  together  for  one 
harmony  some  day  to  be  perfected.  Not 
all  books,  nor  even  all  good  books,  were 
equally  good  for  that  effect,  he  thought,  and 
the  best 

"  You  might  not  think  it,"  he  said,  "  but 
the  best  was  a  Bible  I'd  chanced  to  carry 
along;"  he  didn't  know  precisely  what 
kind,  but  "  just  one  of  these  ordinary  Bibles 
you  see  lying  around  in  people's  houses." 
He  extolled  the  psalms  and  asked  Mrs. 
Smith  if  she'd  ever  noticed  the  beauty  of 
the  twenty-third.  She  smiled  and  said  she 
believed  she  had. 

42 


The  Solitary 

"  Then  there  was  one,"  he  went  on,  "  be 
ginning,  '  Lord,  my  heart  is  not  haughty, 
nor  mine  eyes  lofty;  neither  do  I  exercise 
myself  in  great  matters,  or  in  things  too 
wonderful  for  me; '  and  by  and  by  it  says, 
1  Surely,  I  have  quieted  myself  as  a  child 
that  is  weaned :  my  soul  is  even  as  a  weaned 
child.' " 

One  day,  after  a  most  marvellous  sunset, 
he  had  been  reading,  he  said,  "  that  long 
psalm  with  twenty-two  parts  in  it — a  hun 
dred  and  seventy-six  verses."  He  had  in 
tended  to  read  "  Lord,  my  heart  is  not 
haughty  "  after  it,  though  the  light  was  fast 
failing,  but  at  the  hundred  and  seventy- 
sixth  verse  he  closed  the  book.  Thus  he  sat 
in  the  nearly  motionless  air,  gazing  on  the 
ripples  of  the  lagoon  as,  now  singly,  and 
now  by  twos  or  threes,  they  glided  up  the 
beach  tinged  with  the  colors  of  parting  day 
as  with  a  grace  of  resignation,  and  sank 
into  the  grateful  sands  like  the  lines  of  this 
last  verse  sinking  into  his  heart ;  now  singly 
— "  I  have  gone  astray  like  a  lost  sheep; " 
and  now  by  twos — "  I  have  gone  astray  like 
a  lost  sheep;  save  thy  servant;"  or  by 
43 


Strong  Hearts 

threes — "  I  have  gone  astray  like  a  lost 
sheep;  save  thy  servant;  for  I  do  not  forget 
thy  commandments/1 

"  I  shouldn't  tell  that,"  he  said  to  us, 
"  if  I  didn't  know  so  well  how  little  it 
counts  for.  But  I  knew  at  the  time  that 
when  the  next  day  but  one  should  bring 
the  lighthouse  steamer  I  shouldn't  be  any 
more  fit  to  go  ashore,  to  stay,  than  a  jelly 
fish."  We  agreed,  he  and  I  that  there 
can  be  as  wide  a  distance  between  fine 
feelings  and  faithful  doing  as,  he  said,  "  be 
tween  listening  to  the  band  and  charging 
a  battery." 

On  the  islet  the  night  deepened.  The 
moon  had  not  risen,  and  the  stars  only 
glorified  the  dark,  as  it,  in  turn,  revealed 
the  unearthly  beauties  of  a  phosphorescent 
sea.  It  was  one  of  those  rare  hours  in  which 
the  deep  confessed  the  amazing  numbers  of 
its  own  living  and  swarming  constellations. 
Not  a  fish  could  leap  or  dart,  not  a  sinuous 
thing  could  turn,  but  it  became  an  animate 
torch.  Every  quick  movement  was  a  gleam 
of  green  fire.  No  drifting,  flaccid  life  could 
pulse  so  softly  along  but  it  betrayed  itself 
44 


The  Solitary 

in  lambent  outlines.  Each  throb  of  the  wa 
ter  became  a  beam  of  light,  and  every  ripple 
that  widened  over  the  strand — still  whisper 
ing,  "  I  have  gone  astray  " — was  edged 
with  luminous  pearls. 

In  an  agreeable  weariness  of  frame,  un 
troubled  in  mind,  and  counting  the  night 
too  beautiful  for  slumber  he  reclined  on  the 
dry  sands  with  an  arm  thrown  over  a  small 
pile  of  fagots  which  he  had  spent  the  day 
in  gathering  from  every  part  of  the  island 
to  serve  his  need  for  the  brief  remainder  of 
his  stay.  In  this  search  he  had  found  but 
one  piece  of  his  boat,  a  pine  board.  This 
he  had  been  glad  to  rive  into  long  splinters 
and  bind  together  again  as  a  brand,  with 
which  to  signal  the  steamer  if — contrary  to 
her  practice,  I  think  he  said — she  should 
pass  in  the  night.  And  so,  without  a  pre 
monition  of  drowsiness,  he  was  presently, 
asleep,  with  the  hours  radiantly  folding  and 
expiring  one  upon  another  like  the  ripples 
on  the  beach. 

When  he  came  to  himself  he  was  on  his 
feet.  The  moon  was  high,  his  fire  was 
smouldering;  his  heart  was  beating  madly 
45 


Strong  Hearts 

and  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  steamer, 
looming  large,  moving  at  full  speed,  her 
green  light  showing,  her  red  light  hid,  and 
her  long  wake  glowing  with  comet  fire.  In 
a  moment  she  would  be  passing.  It  was  too 
late  for  beacon-flame  or  torch.  He  sprang 
for  his  gun,  and  mounting  the  first  low  rise 
fired  into  the  air,  once! — twice! — and 
shouted,  "Help!— help!" 

She  kept  straight  on.  She  was  passing, 
she  was  passing!  In  trembling  haste  he 
loaded  and  fired  again,  again  wailed  out  his 
cry  for  help,  and  still  she  kept  her  speed. 
He  had  loaded  for  the  third  discharge,  still 
frantically  calling  the  while,  and  was  lifting 
his  gun  to  fire  when  he  saw  the  white  light 
at  her  foremast-head  begin  to  draw  nearer 
to  the  green  light  at  her  waist  and  knew  she 
was  turning.  He  fired,  shouted,  and  tried 
to  load  again ;  but  as  her  red  light  bright 
ened  into  view  beside  the  green,  he 
dropped  his  gun  and  leaped  and  crouched 
and  laughed  and  wept  for  joy. 

"Why,  Gregory!"  the  naval  lieutenant 
cried,  as  the  castaway  climbed  from  the 
46 


The  Solitary 

steamer's  boat  to  her  deck.  "Why,  you 
blasted  old  cracked  fiddle!  what  in— 

"  Right,  the  first  guess! "  laughed  Greg 
ory,  "  there's  where  I've  been!  "  and  in  the 
cabin  he  explained  all. 

"The  fiddle's  mended/'  he  concluded. 
"  You  can  play  a  tune  on  it — by  being  care 
ful." 

"But  what's  your  tune?"  asked  his 
hearer;  "  you  cannot  go  back  to  that  island." 

"  Yes,  I'll  be  on  it  in  a  week — with  a 
schooner-load  of  cattle.  I  can  get  them  on 
credit.  Going  to  raise  cattle  there  as  a  regu 
lar  business.  They'll  fatten  in  that  marsh 
like  blackbirds." 

True  enough,  before  the  week  was  up  the 
mended  fiddle  was  playing  its  tune.  It  was 
not  until  Gregory's  second  return  from  his 
island  that  he  came  to  see  us  and  told  us 
his  simple  story.  We  asked  him  how  it 
was  that  the  steamer,  that  first  time,  had 
come  so  much  earlier  than  she  generally 
did. 

"  She  didn't,"  he  replied.  "  I  had  mis 
counted  one  day." 

"  Don't  you,"  asked  my  wife,  who  would 
47 


•  Strong  Hearts 

have  liked  a  more  religious  tone  in  Greg 
ory's  recital,  "  don't  you  have  trouble  to 
keep  run  of  your  Sabbaths  away  out  there 
alone?" 

«  Why  "—he  smiled—"  it's  always  Sun 
day  there.  Here  almost  everybody  feels 
duty  bound  to  work  harder  than  somebody 
else,  or  else  make  somebody  else  work 
harder  than  he,  and  you  need  a  day  every 
now  and  then  for  Sunday — or  Sabbath,  at 
least.  Oh,  I  suppose  it's  all  one  in  the  end, 
isn't  it?  You  take  your's  in  a  pill,  I  take 
mine  in  a  powder.  Not  that  it's  the  least 
bit  like  a  dose,  however,  except  for  the  good 
it  does." 

"And  you're  really  prospering,  even  in 
a  material  way !  "  I  said. 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "O  yes;  the  isl 
and's  already  too  small  for  us." 

"  It's  certainly  very  dangerously  ex 
posed,"  said  my  wife,  and  I  guessed  her 
thought  was  on  Last  Island,  which,  you 
remember,  though  very  large  and  populous, 
had  been,  within  our  recollection,  totally 
submerged,  with  dreadful  loss  of  life. 

"  O  yes,"  he  responded,  "  there's  always 
48 


The  Solitary 

something  wherever  you  are.  One  of  these 
days  some  storm's  going  to  roll  the  sea 
clean  over  the  whole  thing." 

"  Then,  why  don't  you  move  to  a  bigger 
island  closer  inshore?  "  she  asked. 

"  I'm  afraid,"  said  Gregory,  and  smiled. 

"  Afraid !  "  said  my  wife,  incredulously. 

"  Yes,"  he  responded.  "  I'm  afraid  my 
prisoner'll  get  away  from  me." 

As  his  hand  closed  over  hers  in  good-by 
I  saw,  what  he  could  not,  that  she  had  half 
a  notion  to  kiss  it.  I  told  her  so  when  he 
was  gone,  and  kissed  hers — for  him. 

"  I  don't  care,"  she  said,  dreamily,  as  it 
lingered  in  mine,  "  I'm  glad  I  mended  his 
coat  for  him  that  time." 


49 


The  Taxidermist 


The  Taxidermist 


day  a  hummingbird  got  caught  in 
a  cobweb  in  our  greenhouse.  It  had 
no  real  need  to  seek  that  damp,  artificial 
heat.  We  were  in  the  very  heart  of  that 
Creole  summer-time  when  bird-notes  are 
many  as  the  sunbeams.  The  flowers  were 
in  such  multitude  they  seemed  to  follow  one 
about,  offering  their  honeys  and  perfumes 
and  begging  to  be  gathered.  Our  little  boy 
saw  the  embodied  joy  fall,  a  joy  no  longer, 
seized  it,  and  clasping  it  too  tightly,  brought 
it  to  me  dead. 

He  cried  so  over  the  loss  that  I  promised 
to  have  the  body  stuffed.  This  is  how  I 
came  to  know  Manouvrier,  the  Taxidermist 
in  St.  Peter  Street. 

I  passed  his  place  twice  before  I  found 
it.  The  front  shop  was  very  small,  dingily 
53 


Strong  Hearts 

clean  and  scornfully  unmercantile.  Of  the 
very  few  specimens  of  his  skill  to  be  seen 
round  about  not  one  was  on  parade,  yet 
everyone  was  somehow  an  achievement,  a 
happy  surprise,  a  lasting  delight.  I  admit 
that  taxidermy  is  not  classed  among  the  fine 
arts ;  but  you  know  there  is  a  way  of  making 
everything — anything — an  art  instead  of  a 
craft  or  a  commerce,  and  such  was  the  way 
of  this  shop's  big,  dark,  hairy-faced,  shaggy- 
headed  master.  I  saw  his  unsmiling  face 
soften  and  his  eye  grow  kind  as  mine  lighted 
up  with  approbation  of  his  handiwork. 

When  I  handed  him  the  hummingbird 
he  held  it  tenderly  in  his  wide  palm,  and  as 
I  was  wondering  to  myself  how  so  huge  a 
hand  as  that  could  manipulate  frail  and  tiny 
things  and  bring  forth  delicate  results,  he 
looked  into  my  face  and  asked,  with  a  sort 
of  magisterial  gentleness: 

"  How  she  git  kill',  dat  lill'  bird?  " 
I  told  him.     I  could  feel  my  mood  and 
words  take  their  tone  from  him,  though  he 
outwardly  heard  me  through  with  no  show 
of  feeling;  and  when  I  finished,  I  knew  we 
were  friends.  I  presently  ventured  to  praise 
54 


The  Taxidermist 

the  specimen  of  his  skill  nearest  at  hand;  a 
wild  turkey  listening  alarmedly  as  if  it 
would  the  next  instant  utter  that  ringing 
"quit!"  which  makes  each  separate  drop 
of  a  hunter's  blood  tingle.  But  with  an  odd 
languor  in  his  gravity,  he  replied: 

"  Naw,  dass  not  well  make;  InT  bit  worse, 
bad  enough  to  put  in  front  window.  I  take 
you  inside;  come." 


II 

WE  passed  through  into  a  private  work 
room  immediately  behind  the  shop.  His 
wife  sat  there  sewing;  a  broad,  motherly 
woman  of  forty-five,  fat,  tranquil,  kind,  with 
an  old  eye,  a  young  voice,  and  a  face  that 
had  got  its  general  flabbiness  through  much 
paddling  and  gnawing  from  other  women's 
teething  babes.  She  sat  still,  unintroduced, 
but  welcomed  me  with  a  smile. 

I  was  saying  to  her  husband  that  a  hum 
mingbird  was  a  very  small  thing  to  ask 
him  to  stuff.  But  he  stopped  me  with  his 
lifted  palm. 

55 


Strong  Hearts 

"  My  fran',  a  hummingbird  has  de  pas- 
sione' — de  ecstacie!  One  drop  of  blood  wid 
the  pas-sione  in  it" — He  waved  his  hand 
with  a  jerk  of  the  thumb  in  disdain  of 
spoken  words,  and  it  was  I  who  added, 

"  Is  bigger  than  the  sun?" 

"  Hah ! "  was  all  he  uttered  in  approval, 
turning  as  if  to  go  to  work.  I  feared  I  had 
disappointed  him. 

"  God  measures  by  the  soul,  not  by  the 
size,"  I  suggested.  But  he  would  say  no 
more,  and  his  wife  put  in  as  softly  as  a  kettle 
beginning  to  sing, 

"Ah,  ha,  ha !  I  t'ink  dass  where  de  good 
God  show  varrie  good  sanse." 

I  began  looking  here  and  there  in  hearti 
est  admiration  of  the  products  of  his  art 
and  presently  we  were  again  in  full  sym 
pathy  and  talking  eagerly.  As  I  was  going 
he  touched  my  arm : 

"  You  will  say  de  soul  is  parted  from  dat 
lill'  bird.  And — yass;  but  " — he  let  a  gest 
ure  speak  the  rest. 

"I  know,"  replied  I;  "you  propose  to 
make  the  soul  seem  to  come  back  and  leave 
us  its  portrait.  I  believe  you  will."  Where- 

56 


The  Taxidermist 

upon  he  gave  me  his  first,  faint  smile,  and 
detained  me  with  another  touch. 

"  Msieu  Smeet;  when  you  was  bawn?  " 

"  I  ?  December  9,  1844.  Why  do  you 
ask?" 

"O  nut'n';  only  I  thing  you  make  me 
luck;  nine,  h-eighteen,  fawty-fo' — I  play 
me  doze  number'  in  de  lott'ree  to-day." 

"  Why,  pshaw !  you  don't  play  the  lot 
tery,  do  you?" 

"  Yass.  I  play  her;  why  not?  She  make 
me  reech  some  of  doze  day'.  Win  fifty  dol- 
lah  one  time  las'  year." 

The  soft  voice  of  the  wife  spoke  up — 
"  And  spend  it  all  to  the  wife  of  my  dead 
brother.  What  use  him  be  reech?  I  think 
he  don't  stoff  bird'  no  betteh." 

But  the  husband  responded  more  than 
half  to  himself, 

"Yass,  I  think  mebbe  I  stoff  him  lill' 
more  betteh." 

When,  some  days  afterward  I  called 
again,  thinking  as  I  drew  near  how  much 
fineness  of  soul  and  life,  seen  or  unseen, 
must  have  existed  in  earlier  generations  to 
have  produced  this  man,  I  noticed  the  in- 
57 


Strong  Hearts 

conspicuous  sign  over  his  door,  P.  T.  B. 
Manouvrier,  and  as  he  led  me  at  once  into 
the  back  room  I  asked  him  playfully  what 
such  princely  abundance  of  initials  might 
stand  for. 

"  Doze?  Ah,  doze  make  only  Pas-Trop- 
Bon." 

I  appealed  to  his  wife;  but  she,  with  her 
placid  laugh,  would  only  confirm  him: 

"Yass;  Pastropbon;  he  like  that  name. 
Tha's  all  de  way  I  call  him — Pastropbon." 


Ill 

THE  hummingbird  was  ready  for  me.  I 
will  not  try  to  tell  how  lifelike  and  beauti 
ful  the  artist  had  made  it.  Even  with  him 
I  took  pains  to  be  somewhat  reserved.  As 
I  stood  holding  and  admiring  the  small 
green  wonder,  I  remarked  that  I  was  near 
having  to  bring  him  that  morning  another 
and  yet  finer  bird.  A  shade  of  displeasure 
(and,  I  feared,  of  suspicion  also)  came  to 
his  face  as  he  asked  me  how  that  was.  I 
explained. 

58 


The  Taxidermist 

Going  into  my  front  hall,  whose  veranda- 
door  framed  in  a  sunny  picture  of  orange- 
boughs,  jasmine-vines,  and  white-clouded 
blue  sky,  I  had  found  a  male  ruby-throat 
circling  about  the  ceiling,  not  wise  enough 
to  stoop,  fly  low,  and  pass  out  by  the  way 
it  had  come  in.  It  occurred  to  me  that  it 
might  be  the  mate  of  the  one  already  mine. 
For  some  time  all  the  efforts  I  could  con 
trive,  either  to  capture  or  free  it,  were  vain. 
Round  and  round  it  flew,  silently  beating 
and  bruising  its  exquisite  little  head  against 
the  lofty  ceiling,  the  glory  of  its  luminous 
red  throat  seeming  to  heighten  into  an  ex 
pression  of  unspeakable  agony.  At  last 
Mrs.  Smith  ran  for  a  long  broom,  and,  as 
in  her  absence  I  stood  watching  the  self- 
snared  captive's  struggle,  the  long,  tiny 
beak  which  had  never  done  worse  than  go 
twittering  with  rapture  to  the  grateful 
hearts  of  thousands  of  flowers,  began  to 
trace  along  the  smooth,  white  ceiling  a 
scarlet  thread  of  pure  heart's  blood.  The 
broom  came.  I  held  it  up,  the  flutterer 
lighted  upon  it,  and  at  first  slowly,  warily, 
and  then  triumphantly,  I  lowered  it  under 
59 


Strong  Hearts 

the  lintel  out  into  the  veranda,  and  the  bird 
darted  away  into  the  garden  and  was  gone 
like  a  soul  into  heaven. 

In  the  middle  of  my  short  recital  Man- 
ouvrier  had  sunk  down  upon  the  arm  of 
his  wife's  rocking-chair  with  one  huge  hand 
on  both  of  hers  folded  over  her  sewing,  and 
as  I  finished  he  sat  motionless,  still  gazing 
into  my  face. 

"  But,"  I  started,  with  sudden  pretence 
of  business  impulse,  "  how  much  am  I  to 
pay?" 

He  rose,  slowly,  and  looked  dreamily  at 
his  wife;  she  smiled  at  him,  and  he  grunted, 

"  Nut'n'." 

"Oh,  my  friend/'  I  laughed,  "that's 
absurd!" 

But  he  had  no  reply,  and  his  wife,  as 
she  resumed  her  sewing,  said,  sweetly,  as 
if  to  her  needle,  "  Ah,  I  think  Pastropbon 
don't  got  to  charge  nut'n'  if  he  don't  feel 
like."  And  I  could  not  move  them. 

As  I  was  leaving  them,  a  sudden  con 
jecture  came  to  me. 

"  Did  those  birthday  numbers  bring  you 
any  luck?" 

60 


The  Taxidermist 

The  taxidermist  shook  his  head,  good- 
naturedly,  but  when  his  wife  laughed  he 
turned  upon  her. 

"  Wait!  I  dawn't  be  done  wid  doze  num 
ber'  yet." 

I  guessed  that,  having  failed  with  them 
in  the  daily  drawings,  he  would  shift  the 
figures  after  some  notion  of  magical  sig 
nificance  and  venture  a  ticket,  whole  or 
fractional,  in  the  monthly  drawing. 

Scarcely  ten  days  after,  as  I  sat  at  break 
fast  with  my  newspaper  spread  beside  my 
plate,  I  fairly  spilled  my  coffee  as  my  eye 
fell  upon  the  name  of  P.  T.  B.  Manouvrier, 
of  No.  —  St.  Peter  Street.  Old  Pastropbon 
had  drawn  seventy-five  thousand  dollars  in 
the  lottery. 


61 


Strong  Hearts 


IV 


ALL  the  first  half  of  the  day,  wherever  I 
was,  in  the  street-car,  at  my  counting-desk, 
on  the  exchange,  no  matter  to  what  I  gave 
my  attention,  my  thought  was  ever  on  my 
friend  the  taxidermist.  At  luncheon  it 
was  the  same.  He  was  rich!  And  what, 
now?  What  next?  And  what — ah!  what 
— at  last?  Would  the  end  be  foul  or  fair? 
I  hoped,  yet  feared.  I  feared  again;  and 
yet  I  hoped. 

A  familiar  acquaintance,  a  really  good 
fellow,  decent,  rich,  "  born  of  pious  par 
ents,"  and  determined  to  have  all  the 
ready-made  refinements  and  tastes  that  pure 
money  could  buy,  came  and  sat  with  me  at 
my  lunch  table. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  began,  "  if  you  know 
where  you  are,  or  what  you're  here  for.  I've 
been  watching  you  for  five  minutes  and  I 
'don't  believe  you  do.  See  here;  what  sort 
of  an  old  donkey  is  that  bird-stuffer  of 
yours?  " 

62 


The  Taxidermist 

"  You  know,  then,  his  good  fortune  of 
yesterday,  do  you?  " 

"  No,  I  don't.  I  know  my  bad  fortune 
with  him  last  week." 

I  dropped  my  spoon  into  my  soup. 
"  Why,  what?  " 

"  Oh,  no  great  shakes.  Only,  I  went  to 
his  place  to  buy  that  wild  turkey  you  told 
me  about.  I  wanted  to  stand  it  away  up 
on  top  of  that  beautiful  old  carved  buffet 
I  picked  up  in  England  last  year.  I  was 
fully  prepared  to  buy  it  on  your  say-so,  but, 
all  the  same,  I  saw  its  merits  the  moment 
I  set  eyes  on  it.  It  has  but  one  fault;  did 
you  notice  that?  I  don't  believe  you  did. 
I  pointed  it  out  to  him." 

"  You  pointed — what  did  he  say?  " 

"  He  said  I  was  right." 

"  Why,  what  was  the  fault?  " 

"Fault?  Why,  the  perspective  is  bad; 
not  exactly  bad,  but  poor;  lacks  richness 
and  rhythm." 

"  And  yet  you  bought  the  thing." 

"  No,  I  didn't." 

"You  didn't  buy  it?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  didn't  buy  it.  I  began  by 
63 


Strong  Hearts 

pricing  three  or  four  other  things  first,  so 
he  couldn't  know  which  one  to  stick  the 
fancy  price  on  to,  and  incidentally  I  thought 
I  would  tell  him — you'd  told  me,  you  re 
member,  how  your  accounts  of  your  two 
birds  had  warmed  him  up  and  melted  his 
feelings " 

"I  didn't  tell  you.  My  wife  told  your 
wife,  and  your  wife,  I " 

"  Yes,  yes.  Well,  anyhow,  I  thought  I'd 
try  the  same  game,  so  I  told  him  how  I  had 
stuffed  a  bird  once  upon  a  time  myself.  It 
was  a  pigeon,  with  every  feather  as  white 
as  snow;  a  fan-tail.  It  had  belonged  to  my 
little  boy  who  died.  I  thought  it  would 
make  such  a  beautiful  emblem  at  his  funeral, 
rising  with  wings  outspread,  you  know, 
typical  of  the  resurrection — we  buried  him 
from  the  Sunday-school,  you  remember. 
And  so  I  killed  it  and  wired  it  and  stuffed 
it  myself.  It  was  hard  to  hang  it  in  a  soar 
ing  attitude,  owing  to  its  being  a  fan-tail, 
but  I  managed  it." 

"And  you  told  that  to  Manouvrier! 
What  did  he  say?" 

"  Say?    He  never  so  much  as  cracked  a 


The  Taxidermist 

smile.  When  I'd  done  he  stood  so  still, 
looking  at  me,  that  I  turned  and  sort  o' 
stroked  the  turkey  and  said,  jestingly,  says 
I,  '  How  much  a  pound  for  this  gobbler? ' ' 

"  That  ought  to  have  warmed  him  up." 

"  Well,  it  didn't.  He  smiled  like  a  danc 
ing-master,  lifted  my  hand  off  the  bird  and 
says,  says  he,  '  She's  not  for  sale.'  Then 
he  turned  to  go  into  his  back  room  and 
leave  me  standing  there.  Well,  that  warmed 
me  up.  Says  I,  '  WThat  in  thunder  is  it  here 
for,  then?  and  if  it  ain't  for  sale,  come  back 
here  and  show  me  what  is! ' 

"  '  Nawtin'/  says  'e,  with  the  same  polite 
smile.  '  Nawtin'  for  sale.  I  come  back 
when  you  gone/  His  voice  was  sweet  as 
sugar,  but  he  slammed  the  door.  I  would 
have  followed  him  in  and  put  some  better 
manners  into  him  with  a  kick,  but  the  old 
orang-outang  had  turned  the  key  inside, 
and  when  I'd  had  time  to  remember  that 
I  was  a  deacon  and  Sunday-school  teacher 
I  walked  away.  What  do  you  mean  by  his 
good  fortune  of  yesterday?  " 

"  I  mean  he  struck  Charlie  Howard  for 
seventy-five  thousand.'* 
65 


Strong  Hearts 

My  hearer's  mouth  dropped  open.  He 
was  equally  amazed  and  amused.  "  Well, 
well,  well !  That  accounts  for  his  silly  high- 
headedness." 

"  Ah !  no :  that  matter  of  yours  was  last 
week  and  the  drawing  was  only  yesterday." 

"  Oh,  that's  so.  I  don't  keep  run  of  that 
horrible  lottery  business.  It  makes  me  sick 
at  heart  to  see  the  hideous  canker  poisoning 
the  character  and  blasting  the  lives  of  every 
class  of  our  people — why,  don't  you  think 
so?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I — I  do.  Yes,  I  certainly 
do!" 

"  But  your  conviction  isn't  exactly  red- 
hot,  I  perceive.  Come,  wake  up." 

We  rose.  At  the  first  street  corner,  as 
we  were  parting,  I  noticed  he  was  still 
talking  of  the  lottery. 

"  Pestilential  thing,"  he  was  calling  it. 
"  Men  blame  it  lightly  on  the  ground  that 
there  are  other  forms  of  gambling  which 
our  laws  don't  reach.  I  suppose  a  tiger  in 
a  village  mustn't  be  killed  till  we  have  killed 
all  the  tigers  back  in  the  woods!  " 

I  assented  absently  and  walked  away  full 
66 


The  Taxidermist 

of  a  vague  shame.  For  I  know  as  well  as 
anyone  that  a  man  without  a  quick,  strong, 
aggressive,  insistent  indignation  against  un 
doubted  evil  is  a  very  poor  stick. 


V 


AT  dinner  that  evening,  Mrs.  Smith  broke 
a  long  silence  with  the  question: 

"  Did  you  go  to  see  Manouvrier?  " 

"  Nn— o." 

She  looked  at  me  drolly.  "  Did  you  go 
half  way  and  turn  back?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  that's  precisely  what  I 
did."  And  we  dropped  the  subject. 

But  in  the  night  I  felt  her  fingers  softly 
touch  my  shoulder. 

"  Warm  night,"  I  remarked. 

"  Richard,"  said  she,  "  it  will  be  time 
enough  to  be  troubled  about  your  taxider 
mist  when  he's  given  you  cause." 

"  I'm  not  troubled;  I'm  simply  interested. 
I'll  go  down  to-morrow  and  see  him."  A 
little  later  it  rained,  very  softly,  and  straight 
67 


Strong  Hearts 

down,  so  that  there  was  no  need  to  shut  the 
windows,  and  I  slept  like  an  infant  until 
the  room  was  full  of  sunshine. 

All  the  next  day  and  evening,  summer 
though  it  was  and  the  levee  and  sugar- 
sheds  and  cotton-yards  virtually  empty,  I 
was  kept  by  unexpected  business  and  could 
not  go  near  St.  Peter  Street.  Both  my 
partners  were  away  on  their  vacations.  But 
on  the  third  afternoon  our  office  regained 
its  summer  quiet  and  I  was  driving  my  pen 
through  the  last  matter  that  prevented  my 
going  where  I  pleased,  when  I  was  dis 
turbed  by  the  announcement  of  a  visitor. 
I  pushed  my  writing  on  to  a  finish  though 
he  stood  just  at  my  back.  Then  I  turned 
to  bid  him  talk  fast  as  my  time  was  limited, 
when  who  should  it  be  but  Manouvrier.  I 
took  him  into  my  private  office,  gave  him 
a  chair  and  said: 

"  I  was  just  coming  to  see  you." 
"  You  had  somet'in'  to  git  stoff  ?  " 
"No;   I— Oh,   I   didn't  know   but   you 
might  like  to  see  me." 

"  Yass? — Well — yass.  I  wish  you  come 
yesterday." 

68 


The  Taxidermist 

"  Indeed?  Why  so;  to  protect  you  from 
reporters  and  beggars?  " 

"  Naw;  my  wife  she  keep  off  all  doze 
Peter  an'  John.  Naw;  one  man  bring  me 
one  wile  cat  to  stoff.  Ah!  a  so  fine  as  I 
never  see!  Beautiful  like  da  dev'l!  Since 
two  day'  an'  night'  I  can't  make  out  if  I 
want  to  fix  dat  wile  cat  stan'in'  up  aw  sittin' 
down!" 

"  Did  you  decide  at  last?  " 

"  Yass,  I  dis-ide.  How  you  think  I  dis- 
ide?  " 

"Ah!  you're  too  hard  for  me.  But  one 
thing  I  know." 

"Yass?    What  you  know?  " 

"  That  you  will  never  do  so  much  to  any 
thing  as  to  leave  my  imagination  nothing 
to  do.  You  will  always  give  my  imagina 
tion  strong  play  and  never  a  bit  of  hard 
work." 

"  Come !    Come  and  see !  " 

I  took  my  hat.  "  Is  that  what  you  called 
to  see  me  about?  " 

"Ah!"  He  started  in  sudden  recollec 
tion  and  brought  forth  the  lottery  com 
pany's  certified  check  for  the  seventy-five 


Strong  Hearts 

thousand  dollars.  "  You  keep  dat? — lill* 
while? — for  me?  Yass;  till  I  mek  out  how 
I  goin'  to  spend  her." 

"  Manouvrier,  may  I  make  one  condi 
tion?" 

"  Yass." 

"  It  is  that  you  will  never  play  the  lottery 
again." 

"  Ah !  Yass,  I  play  her  ag'in !  You  want 
know  whan  ole  Pastropbon  play  her  ag'in? 
One  doze  fine  mawning — mebbee — dat  sun 
— going  rise  hisself  in  de  wes'.  Well:  when 
ole  Pastropbon  see  dat,  he  play  dat  lott'ree 
ag'in.  But  biffo'  he  see  dat "—  He  flirted 
his  thumb. 

Not  many  days  later  a  sudden  bereave 
ment  brought  our  junior  partner  back  from 
Europe  and  I  took  my  family  North  for  a 
more  stimulating  air.  Before  I  went  I 
called  on  my  St.  Peter  Street  friend  to  say 
that  during  my  absence  either  of  my  part 
ners  would  fulfil  any  wish  of  his  concerning 
the  money.  In  his  wife's  sewing-basket  in 
the  back  room  I  noticed  a  batch  of  un 
opened  letters,  and  ventured  a  question 
which  had  been  in  my  mind  for  several  days. 
70 


The  Taxidermist 

"  Manouvrier,  you  must  get  a  host  of  let 
ters  these  days  from  people  who  think  you 
ought  to  help  them  because  you  have  got 
money  and  they  haven't.  Do  you  read 
them?" 

"  Naw !  "  He  gave  me  his  back,  bending 
suddenly  over  some  real  or  pretended  work. 
"  I  read  some — first  day.  Since  dat  time  I 
give  'em  to  old  woman — wash  hand — go  to 
work  ag'in — naw  use." 

"Ah!  no  use?"  piped  up  the  soft-voiced 
wife.  "  I  use  them  to  light  those  fire  to 
cook  those  soup."  But  I  felt  the  absence 
of  her  accustomed  laugh. 

"  Well,  it's  there  whenever  you  want  it/' 
I  said  to  the  husband  as  I  was  leaving. 

"  What?  "  The  tone  of  the  response  was 
harsh.  "  What  is  where?  " 

"  Why,  the  money.    It's  in  the  bank." 

"  Hah !  "  he  said,  with  a  contemptuous 
smile  and  finished  with  his  thumb.  That 
was  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  a  thumb  swear. 
But  in  a  moment  his  kindly  gravity  was  on 
him  again  and  he  said,  "  Daz  all  right ;  I 
come  git  her  some  day." 


Strong  Hearts 


VI 


I  DID  not  get  back  to  New  Orleans  till 
late  in  the  fall.  In  the  office  they  told  me 
that  Manouvrier  had  been  in  twice  to  see 
if  I  had  returned,  and  they  had  promised  to 
send  him  word  of  my  arrival.  But  I  said 
no,  and  went  to  see  him. 

I  found  new  lines  of  care  on  his  brow,  but 
the  old  kindness  was  still  in  his  eye.  We 
exchanged  a  few  words  of  greeting  and  in 
quiry,  and  then  there  came  a  pause,  which 
I  broke. 

"  Well,  stuffing  birds  better  than  ever,  I 
suppose." 

"  Naw,"  he  looked  around  upon  his  work, 
"  I  dawn't  think.  I  dunno  if  I  stoff  him 
quite  so  good  like  biffo'."  Another  pause. 
Then,  "  I  think  I  mek  out  what  I  do  wid 
doze  money  now." 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  and  noticed  that  his 
face  was  averted  from  his  wife. 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  broad  back  with 
a  quizzical  smile,  glanced  at  me  knowingly, 
72 


The  Taxidermist 

and  dropped  them  again  upon  her  sewing, 
sighed : 

"  Ali-bah !  "  Then  she  suddenly  glanced 
at  me  with  a  pretty  laugh  and  added, 
"  Since  all  that  time  he  dunno  what  he 
goin'  to  make  with  it.  If  he  trade  with  it  I 
thing  he  don't  stoff  bird  no  mo',  and  I 
thing  he  lose  it  bis-ide — ha,  ha,  ha! — and  if 
he  keep  it  all  time  lock  in  doze  bank  I  thing 
he  jiz  well  not  have  it."  She  laughed  again. 

But  he  quite  ignored  her  and  resumed, 
as  if  out  of  a  revery,  "  Yass,  at  de  las'  I  mek 
dat  out."  And  the  wife  interrupted  him  in 
a  tone  that  was  like  the  content  of  a  singing 
hen. 

"  I  think  it  don't  worth  while  to  leave  it 
to  our  chillun,  en't  it?  " 

"  Ah!  "  said  the  husband,  entirely  to  me, 
"  daz  de  troub'!  You  see? — we  dawn't  got 
some  ba-bee'!  Dat  neveh  arrive  to  her. 
God  know'  dass  not  de  fault  of  us." 

"  Yass,"  put  in  his  partner,  smiling  to 
her  needle,  "  the  good  God  know'  that  verrie 
well."  And  the  pair  exchanged  a  look  of 
dove-like  fondness. 

"  Yass,"  Manouvrier  mused  aloud  once 
73 


Strong  Hearts 

more,  "  I  think  I  build  my  ole  woman  one 
fine  house." 

"Ah!    I  don't  want!" 

"But  yass!  Foudre  tonnerre!  how  I 
goin'  spend  her  else?  w'iskee?  bosses? 
women?  what  da  dev'l!  Naw,  I  build  a  fine 
'ouse.  You  see!  she  want  dat  house  bad 
enough  when  she  see  her.  Yass;  fifty 
t'ousan'  dollah  faw  house  and  twenty-five 
t'ousan' " — he  whisked  his  thumb  at  me 
and  I  said  for  him, 

"  Yes,  twenty-five  thousand  at  interest  to 
keep  up  the  establishment." 

"  Yass.  Den  if  Pastropbon  go  first  to  dat 
boneyard — "  And  out  went  his  thumb 
again,  while  his  hairy  lip  curled  at  the  grim 
prospect  of  beating  Fate  the  second  time, 
and  as  badly,  in  the  cemetery,  as  the  first 
time,  in  the  lottery. 

He  built  the  house — farther  down  town 
and  much  farther  from  the  river.  Both  hus 
band  and  wife  found  a  daily  delight  in 
watching  its  slow  rise  and  progress.  In  the 
room  behind  the  shop  he  still  plied  his  art 
and  she  her  needle  as  they  had  done  all  their 
married  life,  with  never  an  inroad  upon 
74 


The  Taxidermist 

their  accustomed  hours  except  the  calls  of 
the  shop  itself;  but  on  every  golden  morn 
ing  of  that  luxurious  summer-land,  for  a 
little  while  before  the  carpenters  and  plas 
terers  arrived  and  dragged  off  their  coats, 
the  pair  spent  a  few  moments  wandering 
through  and  about  the  building  together, 
she  with  her  hen-like  crooning,  he  with  his 
unsmiling  face. 

Yet  they  never  showed  the  faintest  desire 
to  see  the  end.  The  contractor  dawdled  by 
the  month.  I  never  saw  such  dillydallying. 
They  only  abetted  it,  and  when  once  he 
brought  an  absurd  and  unasked-for  excuse 
to  the  taxidermist's  shop,  its  proprietor 
said — first  shutting  the  door  between  them 
and  the  wife  in  the  inner  room: 

"  Tek  yo'  time.  Mo*  sloweh  she  grow, 
mo'  longeh  she  stan'." 

I  doubt  that  either  Manouvrier  or  his  wife 
hinted  to  the  other  the  true  reason  for  their 
apathy.  But  I  guessed  it,  only  too  easily, 
and  felt  its  pang.  It  was  that  with  the  oc 
cupancy  and  care  of  the  house  must  begin 
the  wife's  absence  from  her  old  seat  beside 
her  husband  at  his  work. 
75 


Strong  Hearts 

Another  thing  troubled  me.  I  did  per 
suade  him  to  put  fittings  into  his  cistern 
which  fire-engines  could  use  in  case  of 
emergency,  but  he  would  not  insure  the 
building. 

"Naw!  Luck  bring  me  dat — I  let  luck 
take  care  of  her." 

"Ah!  yass,"  chimed  the  wife,  "yet  still 
I  think  mebbee  the  good  God  tell  luck 
where  to  bring  her.  I'm  shoe  he  got  fing-er 
in  that  pie." 

"Ah-ha?  Daz  all  right!  If  God  want 
to  burn  his  own  fing-er " 

At  length  the  house  was  finished  and  was 
beautiful  within  and  without.  It  was  of  two 
and  a  half  stories,  broad  and  with  many 
rooms.  Two  spacious  halls  crossed  each 
other,  and  there  were  wide  verandas  front 
and  back,  and  a  finished  and  latticed  base 
ment.  The  basement  and  the  entire 
grounds,  except  a  few  bright  flower-bor 
ders,  were  flagged,  as  was  also  the  sidewalk, 
with  the  manufactured  stone  v/hich  in  that 
nearly  frostless  climate  makes  such  a  per 
fect  and  beautiful  pavement,  and  on  this  fair 
surface  fell  the  large  shadows  of  laburnum, 


The  Taxidermist 

myrtle,  orange,  oleander,  sweet-olive,  mes- 
pelus,  and  banana,  which  the  taxidermist 
had  not  spared  expense  to  transplant  here 
in  the  leafy  prime  of  their  full  growth. 

Then  almost  as  slowly  the  dwelling  was 
furnished.  In  this  the  brother-in-law's 
widow  co-operated,  and  when  it  was  com 
pleted  Manouvrier  suggested  her  living  in 
it  a  few  days,  so  that  his  wife  might  herself 
move  in  as  leisurely  as  she  chose.  And  six 
months  later,  there,  in  the  old  back  room  in 
St.  Peter  Street,  the  wife  still  sat  sewing 
and  now  and  then  saying  small,  wise,  dis 
passionate  things  to  temper  the  warmth  of 
her  partner's  more  artistic  emotions.  Every 
fair  day,  about  the  hour  of  sunset,  they  went 
to  see  the  new  house.  It  was  plain  they 
loved  it;  loved  it  only  less  than  their  old 
life;  but  only  the  brother-in-law's  widow 
lived  in  it. 


77 


Strong  Hearts 


VII 

I  HAPPENED  about  this  time  to  be  acting 
as  president  of  an  insurance  company  on 
Canal  Street.  Summer  was  coming  in 
again.  One  hot  sunny  day,  when  the  wind 
was  high  and  gusty,  the  secretary  was  re 
marking  to  me  what  sad  ruin  it  might  work 
if  fire  should  start  among  the  frame  tene 
ment  cottages  which  made  up  so  many 
neighborhoods  that  were  destitute  of  water- 
mains,  when  right  at  our  ear  the  gong 
sounded  for  just  such  a  region  and  presently 
engine  after  engine  came  thundering  and 
smoking  by  our  open  windows.  Fire  had 
broken  out  in  the  street  where  Manouvrier's 
new  house  stood,  four  squares  from  that 
house,  but  straight  to  windward  of  it. 

We  knew  only  too  well,  without  being 
there  to  witness,  that  our  firemen  would 
find  nothing  with  which  to  fight  the  flames 
except  a  few  shallow  wells  of  surface  water 
and  the  wooden  rain-water  cisterns  above 
ground,  and  that  both  these  sources  were 
almost  worthless  owing  to  a  drouth.  A 
78 


The  Taxidermist 

man  came  in  and  sat  telling  me  of  his  new 
device  for  lessening  the  risks  of  fire. 

"Where?"  asked  I,  quickly. 

"Why,  as  I  was  saying,  on  steamboats 
loaded  with  cotton." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  I,  "  I  understand."  But 
I  did  not.  For  the  life  of  me  I  couldn't 
make  sense  of  what  he  said.  I  kept  my  eyes 
laboriously  in  his  face,  but  all  I  could  see 
was  a  vision  of  burning  cottages;  hook-and- 
ladder-men  pulling  down  sheds  and  fences; 
ruined  cisterns  letting  just  enough  water 
into  door-yards  and  street-gutters  to  make 
sloppy  walking;  fire-engines  standing  idle 
and  dropping  cinders  into  their  own  pud 
dles  in  a  kind  of  shame  for  their  little  worth  ; 
here  and  there  one  furiously  sucking  at  an 
exhausted  well  while  its  firemen  stood  with 
scorching  faces  holding  the  nozzles  almost 
in  the  flames  and  cursing  the  stream  of 
dribbling  mud  that  fell  short  of  their  gallant 
endeavor.  I  seemed  to  see  streets  populous 
with  the  sensation-seeking  crowd;  side 
walks  and  alleys  filled  with  bedding,  chairs, 
bureaus,  baskets  of  crockery  and  calico 
clothing  with  lamps  spilling  into  them, 
79 


Strong  Hearts 

cheap  looking-glasses  unexpectedly  answer 
ing  your  eye  with  the  boldness  of  an  out 
cast  girl,  broken  tables,  pictures  of  the 
Virgin,  overturned  stoves,  and  all  the  dear 
mantlepiece  trash  which  but  an  hour  before 
had  been  the  pride  of  the  toiling  housewife, 
and  the  adornment  of  the  laborer's  home. 

"  Where  can  I  see  this  apparatus? "  I 
asked  my  patient  interviewer. 

"  Well — ahem !  it  isn't  what  you'd  call  an 
apparatus,  exactly.  I  have  here " 

"Yes;  never  mind  that  just  now;  I'm 
satisfied  you've  got  a  good  thing  and — I'll 
tell  you!  Can  you  come  in  to-morrow  at 
this  hour?  Good!  I  wish  you  would! 
Well,  good-day." 

The  secretary  was  waiting  to  speak  to  me. 
The  fire,  he  said,  had  entirely  burned  up 
one  square  and  was  half  through  a  second. 
"  By  the  way,  isn't  that  the  street  where  old 
P.  T.  B. " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  taking  my  hat;  "  if  any 
one  wants  to  see  me,  you'd  better  tell  him 
to  call  to-morrow." 

I  found  the  shop  in  St.  Peter's  Street  shut, 
and  went  on  to  the  new  residence.  As  I 
80 


The  Taxidermist 

came  near  it,  its  beauty  seemed  to  me  to 
have  consciously  increased  under  the  threat- 
enings  of  destruction. 

In  the  front  gate  stood  the  brother-in- 
law's  widow,  full  of  gestures  and  distressful 
smiles  as  she  leaned  out  with  nervously 
folded  arms  and  looked  up  and  down  the 
street.  "  Manouvrier?  he  is  ad  the  fire  since 
a  whole  hour.  He  will  break  his  heart  if 
dat  fire  ketch  to  dat  'ouse  here.  He  cannot 
know  'ow  'tis  in  danger!  Ah!  sen'  him 
word?  I  sen'  him  fo'  five  time' — he  sen* 
back  I  stay  righd  there  an'  not  touch  nut'n'! 
Ah!  my  God!  I  fine  dat  varrie  te-de-ous, 
me,  yass!  " 

"Is  his  wife  with  him?" 

"Assuredly!  You  see,  dey  git  'fraid 
'bout  dat  'ouse  of  de  Sister',  you  know? " 

"No,  where  is  it?" 

"  No?  You  dunno  dat  lill'  'ouse  where 
de  Sister'  keep  dose  orphelin'  ba-bee' — juz 
big-inning  sinse  'bout  two  week'  ago — 
round  de  corner — one  square  mo'  down 
town — 'alf  square  mo'  nearer  de  swamp? 
Well,  I  thing  'f  you  pass  yondeh  you  fine 
Pastropbon." 

81 


Strong  Hearts 


VIII 

THROUGH  smoke,  under  falling  cinders, 
and  by  distracted  and  fleeing  households  I 
went.  The  moment  I  turned  the  second 
corner  I  espied  the  house.  It  was  already 
half  a  square  from  the  oncoming  fire,  but 
on  the  northern  side  of  the  street,  just  out 
of  its  probable  track  and  not  in  great  dan 
ger  except  from  sparks.  But  it  was  old 
and  roofed  with  shingles;  a  decrepit  Creole 
cottage  sitting  under  dense  cedars  in  a  tan 
gle  of  rose  and  honeysuckle  vines,  and 
strangely  beautified  by  a  flood  of  smoke- 
dimmed  yellow  sunlight. 

As  I  hurried  forward,  several  men  and 
boys  came  from  the  opposite  direction  at  a 
run  and  an  engine  followed  them,  jouncing 
and  tilting  across  the  sidewalk  opposite  the 
little  asylum,  into  a  yard,  to  draw  from  a 
fresh  well.  Their  leader  was  a  sight  that 
drew  all  eyes.  He  was  coatless  and  hatless ; 
his  thin  cotton  shirt,  with  its  sleeves  rolled 
up  to  the  elbows,  was  torn  almost  off  his 
shaggy  breast,  his  trousers  were  drenched 
82 


The  Taxidermist 

with  water  and  a  rude  bandage  round  his 
head  was  soaked  with  blood.  He  carried 
an  axe.  The  throng  shut  him  from  my 
sight,  but  I  ran  to  the  spot  and  saw  him 
again  standing  before  the  engine  horses 
with  his  back  close  to  their  heads.  A  strong, 
high  board  fence  shut  them  off  from  the 
well  and  against  it  stood  the  owner  of  the 
property,  pale  as  death,  guarding  the  pre 
cious  water  with  a  shotgun  at  full  cock.  I 
heard  him  say: 

"  The  first  fellow  that  touches  this 
fence- 
But  he  did  not  finish.  Quicker  than  his 
gun  could  flash  and  bang  harmlessly  in  the 
air  the  man  before  him  had  dropped  the 
axe  and  leaped  upon  him  with  the  roar  of 
a  lion.  The  empty  gun  flew  one  way  and 
its  owner  another  and  almost  before  either 
struck  the  ground  the  axe  was  swinging 
and  crashing  into  the  fence. 

As  presently  the  engine  rolled  through 
the  gap  and  shouting  men  backed  her  to 
the  edge  of  the  well,  the  big  axeman  paused 
to  wipe  the  streaming  sweat  from  his  be 
grimed  face  with  his  arm.  I  clutched  him. 

83 


Strong  Hearts 

"  Manouvrier! " 

A  smile  of  recognition  shone  for  an  in 
stant  and  vanished  as  I  added, 

"  Come  to  your  own  house!  Come,  you 
can't  save  it  here." 

He  turned  a  quick,  wild  look  at  the  fire, 
seized  me  by  the  arm  and  with  a  gaze  of 
deepest  gratitude,  asked: 

"  You  try  in'  save  her?  " 

"  I'll  do  anything  I  can." 

"  Oh,  dass  right! "  His  face  was  full  of 
mingled  joy  and  pain.  "  You  go  yondeh 
— mek  yo'  possible!"  We  were  hurrying 
to  the  street — "  Oh,  yass,  faw  God's  sake 
go,  mek  yo'  possible!  " 

"  But,  Manouvrier,  you  must  come  too ! 
Where's  your  wife?  The  chief  danger  to 
your  house  isn't  here,  it's  where  the  fire's 
between  it  and  the  wind !  "  , 

His  answer  was  a  look  of  anguish. 
"  Good  God !  my  fran'.  We  come  yondeh 
so  quick  we  can!  But — foudre  tonnerre! — 
look  that  house  here  fill'  with  ba-bee'! 
What  we  goin'  do?  Those  Sister'  can't 
climb  on  roof  with  bocket'  wateh.  You  see 
I  got  half-dozen  boy'  up  yondeh;  if  I  go 
84 


The  Taxidermist 

'way  they  dis-cend  and  run  off  at  the  fire, 
spark'  fall  on  roof  an' — "  his  thumb  flew 
out. 

"Sparks!  Heavens!  Manouvrier,  your 
house  is  in  the  path  of  the  flames! " 

The  man  flew  at  me  and  hung  over  me, 
his  strong  locks  shaking,  his  great  black 
fist  uplifted  and  the  only  tears  in  his  eyes 
I  ever  saw  there.  "  Damnession!  She's  not 
mine!  I  trade  her  to  God  faw  these  one! 
Go!  tell  him  she's  his,  he  kin  burn  her  if  he 
feel  like' !  "  He  gave  a  half  laugh,  fresh 
witness  of  his  distress,  and  went  into  the 
gate  of  the  asylum. 

I  smiled — what  could  I  do? — and  was 
turning  away,  when  I  saw  the  chief  of  the 
fire  department.  It  took  but  one  moment 
to  tell  him  my  want,  and  in  another  he  had 
put  the  cottage  roof  under  the  charge  of 
four  of  his  men  with  instructions  not  to 
leave  it  till  the  danger  was  past  or  the  house 
burning.  The  engine  near  us  had  drawn 
the  well  dry  and  was  coming  away.  He 
met  it,  pointed  to  where,  beneath  swirling 
billows  of  black  smoke,  the  pretty  gable  of 
the  taxidermist's  house  shone  like  a  white 

35 


Strong  Hearts 

sail  against  a  thundercloud,  gave  orders  and 
disappeared. 

The  street  was  rilling  with  people.  A  row 
of  cottages  across  the  way  was  being  emp 
tied.  The  crackling  flames  were  but  half  a 
square  from  Manouvrier's  house.  I  called 
him  once  more  to  come.  He  waved  his 
hand  kindly  to  imply  that  he  knew  what  I 
had  done.  He  and  his  wife  were  in  the 
Sisters'  front  garden  walk  conversing 
eagerly  with  the  Mother  Superior.  They 
neared  the  gate.  Suddenly  the  Mother 
Superior  went  back,  the  lay-sister  guarding 
the  gate  let  the  pair  out  and  the  three  of  us 
hurried  off  together. 

We  found  ourselves  now  in  the  uproar 
and  vortex  of  the  struggle.  Only  at  inter 
vals  could  we  take  our  attention  from  the 
turmoil  that  impeded  or  threatened  us,  to 
glance  forward  at  the  white  gable  or  back 
— as  Manouvrier  persisted  in  doing — to  the 
Sisters'  cottage.  Once  I  looked  behind  and 
noticed,  what  I  was  loath  to  tell,  that  the 
firemen  on  its  roof  had  grown  busy;  but  as 
I  was  about  to  risk  the  truth,  the  husband 
and  wife,  glancing  at  their  own  roof,  in  one 
86 


The  Taxidermist 

breath  groaned  aloud.  Its  gleaming  gable 
had  begun  to  smoke. 

"Ah!  that  good  God  have  pity  on  uz!" 
cried  the  wife,  in  tears,  but  as  she  started  to 
run  forward  I  caught  her  arm  and  bade  her 
look  again.  A  strong,  white  stream  of  wa 
ter  was  falling  on  the  smoking  spot  and  it 
smoked  no  more. 

The  next  minute,  with  scores  of  others, 
choking  and  blinded  with  the  smoke,  we 
were  flying  from  the  fire.  The  wind  had 
turned. 

"It  is  only  a  gust,"  I  cried,  "it  will 
swing  round  again.  We  must  turn  the  next 
corner  and  reach  the  house  from  the  far 
side."  I  glanced  back  to  see  why  my  com 
panions  lagged  and  lo!  they  had  vanished. 


Strong  Hearts 


IX 

I  REACHED  the  house  just  in  time  to  save 
its  front  grounds  from  the  invasion  of  the 
rabble.  The  wind  had  not  turned  back 
again.  The  brother-in-law's  widow  was 
offering  prayers  of  thanksgiving.  The  cis 
terns  were  empty  and  the  garden  stood 
glistening  in  the  afternoon  sun  like  a  May 
queen  drenched  in  tears ;  but  the  lovely  spot 
was  saved. 

I  left  its  custodian  at  an  upper  window, 
looking  out  upon  the  fire,  and  started  once 
more  to  find  my  friends.  Half-way  round 
to  the  Sisters'  cottage  I  met  them.  With 
many  others  I  stepped  aside  to  make  a  clear 
way  for  the  procession  they  headed.  The 
sweet,  clean  wife  bore  in  her  arms  an  infant ; 
the  tattered,  sooty,  bloody-headed  husband 
bore  two ;  and  after  them,  by  pairs  and  hand 
in  hand,  with  one  gray  sister  in  the  rear, 
came  a  score  or  more  of  pink-frocked,  • 
motherless  little  girls.  An  amused  rabble 
of  children  and  lads  hovered  about  the 
diminutive  column,  with  leers  and  jests  and 
88 


The  Taxidermist 

happy  antics,  and  the  wife  smiled  foolishly 
and  burned  red  with  her  embarrassment; 
but  in  the  taxidermist's  face  shone  an  ex 
altation  of  soul  greater  than  any  I  had  ever 
seen.  I  felt  too  petty  for  such  a  moment 
and  hoped  he  would  go  by  without  seeing 
me;  but  he  smiled  an  altogether  new  smile 
and  said, 

"  My  fran',  God  A'mighty,  he  know  a 
good  bargain  well  as  anybody! " 

I  ran  ahead  with  no  more  shame  of  the 
crowd  than  Zaccheus  of  old.  I  threw  open 
the  gate,  bounded  up  the  steps  and  spread 
wide  the  door.  In  the  hall,  the  widow, 
knowing  naught  of  this,  met  me  with  wet 
eyes  crying, 

"  Ah!  ah!  de  'ouse  of  de  orphelin'  is  juz 
blaze'  up  h-all  over  h-at  once!  "  and  hushed 
in  amazement  as  the  procession  entered  the 
gate. 

P.  T.  B.  Manouvrier,  Taxidermist! 

When  the  fire  was  out  the  owner  of  that 

sign  went  back  to  his  shop  and  to  his  work, 

and  his  wife  sat  by  him  sewing  as  before. 

But  the  orphans  stayed  in  their  new  and 

89 


Strong  Hearts 

better  home.  Two  or  three  years  ago  the 
Sisters — the  brother-in-law's  widow  is  one 
of  them — built  a  large  addition  behind ;  but 
the  house  itself  stands  in  the  beauty  in 
which  it  stood  on  that  day  of  destruction, 
and  my  friend  always  leaves  his  work  on 
balmy  afternoons  in  time  to  go  with  his 
wife  and  see  that  pink  procession,  four 
times  as  long  now  as  it  was  that  day,  march 
out  the  gate  and  down  the  street  for  its 
daily  walk. 

"  Ah !  Pastropbon,  we  got  ba-bee'  enough 
presently,  en't  it?" 

"  Ole  woman,  nobody  else  ever  strock  dat 
lott'ree  for  such  a  prize  like  dat." 


go 


The  Entomologist 


The  Entomologist 


A  N  odd  feature  of  New  Orleans  is  the 
"^  way  homes  of  all  ranks,  in  so  many 
sections  of  it,  are  mingled.  The  easy,  bright 
democracy  of  the  thing  is  what  one  might 
fancy  of  ancient  Greeks;  only,  here  there 
is  a  general  wooden  frailty. 

A  notable  phase  of  this  characteristic  is 
the  multitude  of  small,  frame,  ground-story 
double  cottages  fronting  endwise  to  the 
street,  on  lots  that  give  either  side  barely 
space  enough  for  one  row  of  twelve-foot 
rooms  with  windows  on  a  three-foot  alley 
leading  to  the  narrow  backyard. 

Thus  they  lie,  deployed  in  pairs  or  half- 
dozens,  by  hundreds,  in  the  variable  inter 
vals  that  occur  between  houses  and  gardens 
of  dignity  and  elegance;  hot  as  ovens,  tak 
ing  their  perpetual  bath  of  the  great 
93 


Strong  Hearts 

cleanser,  sunshine.  Sometimes  they  open 
directly  upon  the  banquette  (sidewalk),  but 
often  behind  as  much  as  a  fathom  of  front- 
yard,  as  gay  with  flowers  as  a  girl's  hat,  and 
as  fragrant  of  sweet-olive,  citronelle,  and 
heliotrope  as  her  garments.  In  the  right- 
hand  half  of  such  a  one,  far  down  on  the 
Creole  side  of  Canal  street,  and  well  out 
toward  the  swamp,  lived  our  friend  the 
entomologist. 

Just  a  glance  at  it  was  enough  to  intox 
icate  one's  fancy.  It  seemed  to  confess 
newness  of  life,  joy,  passion,  temperance, 
refinement,  aspiration,  modest  wisdom,  and 
serene  courage.  You  would  say  there  must 
live  two  well-mated  young  lovers — but  one 
can't  always  tell. 


94 


The  Entomologist 


II 

WE  first  came  to  know  the  entomologist 
through  our  opposite  neighbors,  the  Fon- 
tenettes,  when  we  lived  in  the  street  that 
still  bears  the  romantic  name,  Sixth.  What 
a  pity  nothing  rhymes  to  it.  Their  ground- 
story  cottage  was  of  a  much  better  sort. 
It  lay  broadside  to  the  street,  two-thirds 
across  a  lot  of  forty  feet  width,  in  the  good 
old  Creole  fashion,  its  front  garden  twelve 
feet  deep,  and  its  street  fence,  of  white  pal 
ings,  higher  than  the  passer's  head.  The 
parlor  and  dining-room  were  on  the  left, 
and  the  two  main  bedrooms  on  the  right, 
next  the  garden;  Mrs.  Fontenette's  in  front, 
opening  into  the  parlor,  Monsieur's  behind, 
letting  into  the  dining-room.  For  there  had 
been  a  broader  garden  on  the  parlor  and 
dining-room  side,  but  that  had  been  sold 
and  built  on.  I  fancy  that  if  Mrs.  Fonte- 
nette — who  was  not  a  Creole,  as  her  hus 
band  was,  but  had  once  been  a  Miss  Bangs, 
or  something,  and  still  called  blackberries 
"  blackbries,"  and  made  root  rhyme  with 
95 


Strong  Hearts 

foot — I  fancy  if  she  had  been  doomed  to 
our  entomologist's  sort  of  a  house  she  would 
have  been  too  broken  in  spirit  to  have  made 
anybody's  acquaintance. 

For  our  pretty  blonde  neighbor  had  am 
bitions,  or  had  had,  as  she  once  hinted  to 
me  with  a  dainty  sadness.  When  I  some 
how  let  slip  to  her  that  I  had  repeated  her 
delicately  balanced  words  to  my  wife  she 
gave  me  one  melting  glance  of  reproach, 
and  thenceforth  confided  in  me  no  more 
beyond  the  limits  -of  literary  criticism  and 
theology — and  botany.  I  remember  we 
were  among  the  few  roses  of  her  small 
flower-beds  at  the  time,  and  I  was  trying  to 
show  her  what  was  blighting  them  all  in  the 
bud.  She  called  them  "  rose-es." 

They  rarely  bloomed  for  her;  she  was  al 
ways  for  being  the  rose  herself — as  Mon 
sieur  Fontenette  once  said;  but  he  said  it 
with  a  glance  of  fond  admiration.  Her 
name  was  Flora,  and  yet  not  flowers,  but 
their  book-lore,  best  suited  her  subtle  ca- 
priciousness.  She  made  such  a  point  of 
names  that  she  could  not  let  us  be  happy 
with  the  homely  monosyllable  by  which  we 
96 


The  Entomologist 

were  known,  until  we  allowed  her  to  hy 
phenate  us  as  the  Thorndyke-Smiths. 

There  hung  in  our  hall  an  entire  un- 
marred  beard  of  the  beautiful  gray  Spanish 
moss,  eight  feet  long.  I  had  got  this 
unusual  specimen  by  tiptoeing  from  the 
thwarts  of  a  skiff  with  twelve  feet  of  yellow 
crevasse-waters  beneath,  the  shade  of  the 
vast  cypress  forest  above,  and  the  bough 
whence  it  hung  brought  within  hand's  reach 
for  the  first  time  in  a  century.  Thus  I  ex 
plained  it  one  day  to  Mrs.  Fontenette,  as 
she  touched  its  ends  with  a  delicate  finger. 

"  Tillandsia  " — was  her  one  word  of  re 
sponse.  She  loved  no  other  part  of  botany 
quite  so  much  as  its  Latin. 

"  The  Baron  ought  to  see  that,"  said 
Monsieur.  He  was  a  man  of  quiet  man 
ners,  not  over-social,  who  had  once  enjoyed 
a  handsome  business  income,  but  had  early 
— about  the  time  of  his  marriage — been 
made  poor  through  the  partial  collapse  of 
the  house  in  Havre  whose  cotton-buyer  he 
had  been,  and,  in  a  scant  way,  still  was. 
"  When  a  cotton-buyer  geds  down,  he 
stays,"  was  all  the  explanation  he  ever  gave 
97 


Strong  Hearts 

us.  He  had  unfretfully  let  adversity  cage 
him  for  life  in  the  only  occupation  he  knew, 
while  the  wife  he  adored  kept  him  pecuni 
arily  bled  to  death,  without  sharing  his 
silent  resigna —  There  I  go  again!  Some 
how  I  can't  talk  about  her  without  seeming 
unjust  and  rude.  I  felt  it  just  now,  even, 
when  I  quoted  her  husband's  fond  word, 
that  she  always  chose  to  be  the  rose  herself. 
Well,  she  nearly  always  succeeded;  she  was 
a  rose — with  some  of  the  rose's  drawbacks. 

When  we  asked  who  the  Baron  might 
be  it  was  she  who  told  us,  but  in  a  certain 
disappointed  way,  as  if  she  would  rather 
have  kept  him  unknown  a  while  longer.  He 
was,  she  said,  a  profoundly  learned  man, 
graduate  of  one  of  those  great  universities 
over  in  his  native  Germany,  and  a  naturalist. 
Young?  Well,  eh — comparatively — yes. 
At  which  the  silent  husband  smiled  his 
dissent. 

The  Baron  was  an  entomologist.  Both 
the  Fontenettes  thought  we  should  be  fas 
cinated  with  the  beauty  of  some  of  his  cases 
of  moths  and  butterflies. 

"  And   coleoptera,"   said  the   soft  rose- 


The  Entomologist 

wife.  She  could  ask  him  to  bring  them  to 
us.  Take  us  to  him? — Oh! — eh — her  em 
barrassment  made  her  prettier,  as  she  broke 
it  to  us  gently  that  the  Baroness  was  a 
seamstress.  She  hushed  at  her  husband's 
mention  of  shirts;  but  recovered  when  he 
harked  back  to  the  Baron,  and  beamed  her 
unspoken  apologies  for  the  great,  brave 
scholar  who  daily,  silently  bore  up  under 
this  awful  humiliation. 


Ill 

TOWARD  the  close  of  the  next  afternoon 
she  brought  the  entomologist.  I  can  see 
yet  the  glad  flutter  she  could  not  hide  as 
they  came  up  our  front  garden  walk  in  an 
air  spiced  by  the  "  four-o'clocks,"  with 
whose  small  trumpets — red,  white,  and  yel 
low — our  children  were  filling  their  laps 
and  stringing  them  on  the  seed-stalks  of  the 
cocoa-grass.  He  was  bent  and  spectacled, 
of  course;  rentomologie  oblige;  but,  oh,  be 
sides  ! — 

"  Comparatively  young,"  Mrs.  Fontenette 
99 


Strong  Hearts 

had  said,  and  I  naturally  used  her  husband, 
who  was  thirty-one,  for  the  comparison. 
Why,  this  man?  It  would  have  been  a 
laughable  flattery  to  have  guessed  his  age 
to  be  forty-five.  Yet  that  was  really  the 
fact.  Many  a  man  looks  younger  at  sixty 
— oh,  at  sixty-five!  He  was  dark,  blood 
less,  bowed,  thin,  weatherbeaten,  ill-clad — a 
picture  of  decent,  incurable  penury.  The 
best  thing  about  his  was  his  head.  It  was 
not  imposing  at  all,  but  it  was  interesting, 
albeit  very  meagrely  graced  with  fine  brown 
hair,  dry  and  neglected.  I  read  him  through 
without  an  effort  before  we  had  been  ten 
minutes  together;  a  leaf  still  hanging  to 
humanity's  tree,  but  faded  and  shrivelled 
around  some  small  worm  that  was  feeding 
on  its  juices. 

And  there  was  no  mistaking  that  worm; 
it  was  the  avarice  of  knowledge.  He  had 
lost  life  by  making  knowledge  its  ultimate 
end,  and  was  still  delving  on,  with  never  a 
laugh  and  never  a  cheer,  feeding  his  ema 
ciated  heart  on  the  locusts  and  wild  honey 
of  entomology  and  botany,  satisfied  with 
them  for  their  own  sake,  without  reference 
100 


The  Entomologist 

to  God  or  man;  an  infant  in  emotions,  who 
time  and  again  would  no  doub't"r4Ve  starved 
outright  but  for  his  wife,  whom  there,  and 
then  I  resolved  we  should  know*  alst/.'  •  I 
was  amused  to  see,  by  stolen  glances,  Mrs. 
Smith  study  him.  She  did  not  know  she 
frowned,  nor  did  he;  but  Mrs.  Fontenette 
knew  it  every  time. 

We  all  had  the  advantage  of  him  as  to 
common  sight.  His  glasses  were  obviously 
of  a  very  high  power,  yet  he  could  scarcely 
see  anything  till  he  clapped  his  face  close 
down  and  hunted  for  it.  When  he  pencilled 
for  me  the  new  Latin  name  he  had  given  to 
a  small,  slender,  almost  dazzling  green 
beetle  inhabiting  the  Spanish  moss — his 
own  scientific  discovery — he  wrote  it  so 
minutely  that  I  had  to  use  a  lens  to  read  it. 

As  we  sat  close  around  the  library  lamp, 
I  noticed  how  often  his  poor  clothing  had 
been  mended  by  a  woman's  needle.  His 
linen  was  discouraging,  his  cravat  awry  and 
dingy,  and  his  hands — we  had  better  pass 
his  hands ;  yet  they  were  slender  and  refined. 

Also  they  shook,  though  not  from  any 
habit  commonly  called  vicious.  You  could 
101 


Strong  Hearts 

see  that  no  vice  of  the  body  nor  any  lust 
of  mater^  tilings  had  ever  led  him  captive. 
He  .gave  one  the,  tender  despair  with  which 
-We  look.Qn.a^t/lind  babe. 

When  we  expressed  regret  that  his  wife 
had  not  come  with  him,  he  only  bent  with 
a  deeper  greed  into  a  book  I  had  handed 
him,  and  after  a  moment  laid  it  down  dis 
appointedly,  saying  that  it  was  "  fool  of 
plundters."  Mrs.  Fontenette  asking  to  be 
shown  one  of  them,  they  reopened  the  book 
together,  she  all  consciousness  as  she  bent 
against  him  over  the  page,  he  oblivious  of 
everything  but  the  phrase  they  were  hunt 
ing.  He  gave  his  forehead  a  tap  of  despair 
as  he  showed  where  the  book  called  this 
same  Tillandsia,  or  Spanish  moss,  a  parasite. 

"  It  iss  no  baraseet/'  he  explained,  in  a 
mellow  falsetto,  "  it  iss  an  epipheet!  " 

"  An  air-plant!  "  said  his  fair  worshipper, 
softly  drinking  in  a  bosomful  of  gladness 
as  she  made  the  distance  between  them 
more  discreet. 

Distances  -were  all  one  to  him.  He 
seemed  like  a  burnt  log,  still  in  shape  but 
gone  to  ashes,  except  in  one  warm  spot 

102 


The  Entomologist 

where  glowed  this  self-consuming,  world- 
sacrificing  adoration  of  knowledge;  knowl 
edge  sought,  as  I  say,  purely  for  its  own 
sake  and  narrowed  down  to  names  and 
technical  descriptions.  Men  of  perverted 
principles  and  passions  you  may  find  any 
where;  but  I  never  had  seen  anyone  so 
totally  undeveloped  in  all  the  emotions, 
affections,  tastes  that  make  life  life. 


IV 

A  FEW  afternoons  later  I  went  to  his 
house.  For  pretext  I  carried  a  huge  green 
worm,  but  I  went  mainly  to  see  just  how 
unluckily  he  was  married.  He  was  not  at 
home.  I  found  his  partner  a  small,  bright, 
toil-worn,  pretty  woman  of  hardly  twenty- 
eight  or  nine,  whose  two  or  three  children 
had  died  in  infancy,  and  who  had  blended 
wifehood  and  motherhood  together,  and 
was  taking  care  of  the  Baron  as  a  widow 
would  care  for  a  crippled  son,  and  at  the 
same  time  reverencing  him  as  if  he  were  a 
demigod.  Of  his  utter  failure  to  provide 
103 


Strong  Hearts 

their  daily  living  she  confessed  herself  by 
every  implication,  simply — proud!  What 
else  should  a  demigod's  wife  expect?  At 
the  same  time,  without  any  direct  statement, 
she  made  it  clear  that  she  had  no  disdain, 
but  only  the  broadest  charity,  for  men  who 
make  a  living.  It  was  odd  how  few  her 
smiles  were,  and  droll  how  much  sweetness 
— what  a  sane  winsomeness — she  managed 
to  radiate  without  them.  I  left  her  in  her 
clean,  bright  cottage,  like  a  nesting  bird  in 
a  flowery  bush,  and  entered  my  own  home, 
declaring,  with  what  I  was  gently  told  was 
unnecessary  enthusiasm,  that  the  Baron's 
wife  was  the  "  unluckily  married  "  one,  and 
the  best  piece  of  luck  her  husband  had  ever 
had.  I  had  seen  women  make  a  virtue  of 
necessity,  but  I  had  never  before  seen  one 
make  a  conviction,  comfort,  and  joy  of  it, 
and  I  should  try  to  like  the  Baron,  I  said, 
if  only  for  her  sake. 

Of  course  I  became,  in  some  degree,  a 
source  of  revenue  to  him.  Understand, 
there  was  always  a  genuine  exchange  of  so 
much  for  so  much ;  he  was  not  a  "  baraseet  " 
— oh,  no! — yet  he  hung  on.  We  still  have, 
104 


The  Entomologist 

stowed  somewhere,  a  large  case  of  butter 
flies,  another  of  splendid  moths,  and  a 
smaller  one  of  glistening  beetles.  Nor  can 
I  begrudge  their  cost,  of  whatever  sort,  even 
now  when  my  delight  in  them  is  no  longer 
a  constant  enthusiasm.  The  cases  of  speci 
mens  have  passed  from  daily  sight,  but 
thenceforth,  as  never  before,  our  garden  was 
furnished  with  guests — pages,  ladies,  poets, 
fairies,  emperors,  goddesses — coming  and 
going  on  gorgeous  wings,  and  none  ever  a 
stranger  more  than  once.  My  non-para 
sitic  friend  "opened  a  new  world"  to  me; 
a  world  that  so  flattered  one  with  its  grace 
and  beauty,  its  marvellous  delicacy  and 
minuteness,  its  glory  of  color  and  curious- 
ness  of  marking,  and  its  exquisite  adapta 
tion  of  form  to  need  and  function,  that  in 
my  meaner  depths,  or  say  my  childish  shal 
lows — I  resented  Mrs.  Fontenette's  making 
the  same  avowal  for  herself — I  didn't  be 
lieve  her! 

I  do  not  say  she  was  consciously  sham 
ming;    but  I  could  see  she  drank  in  the 
Baron's  revelations  with  no  more  true  spir 
itual  exaltation  than  the  quivering  twilight 
105 


Strong  Hearts 

moths  drew  from  our  veranda  honeysuckles. 
Yet  it  was  mainly  her  vanity  that  feasted, 
not  any  lower  impulse — of  which,  you 
know,  there  are  several — and,  possibly,  all 
her  vanity  craved  at  first  was  the  tinsel  dis 
tinction  of  unusual  knowledge. 

One  night  she  got  into  my  dreams.  I 
seemed  to  be  explaining  to  Monsieur  Fon- 
tenette  apologetically  that  this  newly  opened 
world  was  not  at  all  separate  from  my  old 
one,  but  shone  everywhere  in  it,  like  our 
winged  guests  in  our  garden,  and  followed 
and  surrounded  me  far  beyond  the  Baron's 
company,  terminology,  and  magnifying- 
glass,  lightening  the  burdens  and  stress  of 
the  very  counting-room  and  exchange. 
Whereat  he  seemed  to  flare  up! 

"Ah!— you— I  believe  yes!  But  she?" 
he  waved  his  hand  in  fierce  unbelief. 

I  awoke  concerned,  and  got  myself  to 
sleep  again  only  by  remembering  the  utter 
absence  of  vanity  in  the  Baron  himself.  I 
lay  smiling  in  the  dark  to  think  how  much 
less  all  our  verbal  caressings  were  worth  to 
him  than  the  drone  of  the  most  familiar 
beetle,  and  how  his  life-long  delving  in 
106 


The  Entomologist 

books  and  nature  had  opened  up  this  fairy 
world  to  him  only  at  the  cost  of  shutting 
up  all  others.  If  education  means  calling 
forth  and  perfecting  our  powers  and  affec 
tions,  he  was  ten  times  more  uneducated 
than  his  wife,  even  as  we  knew  her  then. 
He  appeared  to  care  no  more  for  human 
interests,  far  or  near,  in  large  or  small,  than 
a  erab  cares  for  the  stars.  I  fell  asleep 
chuckling  in  remembrance  of  an  occasion 
when  Mrs.  Fontenette,  taking  her  cue  from 
me,  spoke  to  him  of  his  plant-and-insect 
lore  as  one  of  the  many  worlds  there  are 
within  the  world,  no  more  displacing  it  than 
light  displaces  air,  or  than  fragrance  dis 
places  form  or  sound.  He  made  her  say 
it  all  over  again,  and  then  asked:  "  Vhere 
vas  dat?" 

His  whole  world  was  not  really  as  wide 
as  Gregory's  island  was  to  its  gentle  hermit. 
No  butterfly  raptures  for  him;  he  devoured 
the  one  kind  of  facts  he  cared  for,  as  a 
caterpillar  devours  leaves. 


107 


Strong  Hearts 


V 

How  Mrs.  Fontenette  got  Mrs.  "  Thorn- 
dyke-Smith  "  and  me  entangled  with  some 
six  or  eight  others  in  her  project  for  a 
botanizing  and  butterfly-chasing  picnic  I  do 
not  know;  but  she  did.  On  the  evening 
before  the  appointed  day  I  perfidiously 
crawfished  out  of  it,  and  our  house  fur 
nished  only  one  delegate,  whom  I  urged  to 
go  rather  than  break  up  the  party — I  never 
break  up  a  party  if  I  can  avoid  it.  "  But  as 
for  me  going,"  I  said,  "  my  business  simply 
won't  let  me!  "  At  which  our  pretty  neigh 
bor  expressed  her  regrets  with  a  ready 
resignation  that  broke  into  open  sunshine 
as  she  lamented  the  same  inability  in  her 
husband.  To  my  suggestion  that  the 
Baroness  be  invited,  Mrs.  Fontenette  smiled 
a  sweet  amusement  that  was  perfect  in  its 
way,  and  said  she  hoped  the  weather  would 
be  propitious;  people  were  so  timid  about 
rain. 

It  was.    When  I  came  home,  tardily,  that 
afternoon,  the  picnickers  had  not  returned, 
108 


The  Entomologist 

though  the  oleanders  and  crape-myrtles  on 
the  grounds  next  ours  cast  shadows  three 
times  their  length  across  our  lawn.  In  an 
aimless  way  I  roamed  from  the  house  down 
into  our  small  rear  garden,  thinking  often- 
est,  of  course,  of  the  absentees,  and  admir 
ing  the  refined  good  sense  with  which  Mon 
sieur  Fontenette  seemed  to  have  decided  to 
let  this  unperilous  attack  of  silliness  run  it 
self  out  in  the  woman  he  loved  with  so  much 
tenderness  and  with  so  much  passion. 

"  How  much  distress  he  is  saving  him 
self  and  all  of  us,"  I  caught  myself  mur 
muring,  audibly,  out  among  my  fig-trees. 

Finding  two  or  three  figs  fully  ripe,  I 
strolled  over  the  way  to  see  him  among  his 
trees  and  maybe  find  chance  for  a  little 
neighborly  boasting.  As  our  custom  with 
each  other  was,  I  ignored  the  bell  on  his 
gate,  drew  the  bolt,  and,  passing  in  among 
Mrs.  Fontenette's  invalid  roses,  must  have 
moved,  without  intention,  quite  noiselessly 
from  one  to  another,  until  I  came  around 
behind  the  house,  where  a  strong  old  cloth- 
of-gold  rose-vine  half  covered  the  latticed 
side  of  the  cistern  shed.  In  the  doorway  I 
109 


Strong  Hearts 

stopped  in  silent  amaze.  A  small  looking- 
glass  hanging  against  the  wooden  cistern 
showed  me — although  I  was  in  much  the 
stronger  light — Monsieur  Fontenette.  He 
was  just  straightening  up  from  an  oil-stone 
he  had  been  using,  and  the  reflection  of  his 
face  fell  full  on  the  glass.  Once  before,  but 
once  only,  had  I  seen  such  agony  of  coun 
tenance — such  fierce  and  awful  looking  in 
and  out  at  the  same  time;  that  was  on  a 
man  who  was  still  trying  to  get  the  best  of 
a  fight  in  which  he  knew  he  was  mortally 
shot.  Fontenette  did  not  see  me.  I  sup 
pose  the  rose-vine  screened  me,  and  his 
glance  did  not  rise  quite  to  the  mirror,  but 
followed  the  soft  thumbings  with  which  he 
tried  the  two  edges  and  point  of  as  mur 
derous  a  knife  as  ever  I  saw. 

As  softly  as  a  shadow  I  drew  out  of  sight, 
turned  away,  and  went  almost  back  to  the 
gate  before  I  let  my  footfall  be  heard,  and 
called,  "M'sieu'  Fontenette!" 

He  hallooed  from  the  shed  in  a  playful 
sham  of  being  a  mile  or  so  away,  and 
emerged  from  the  lattice  and  vine  with  that 
accustomed  light  of  equanimity  on  his  feat- 
no 


The  Entomologist 

u res  which  made  him  always  so  thoroughly 
good-looking.  He  came  hitching  his  waist 
band  with  both  hands  in  that  innocent 
Creole  way  that  belongs  to  the  latitude,  and 
how  I  knew  I  cannot  tell  you,  but  I  did 
know — I  didn't  merely  feel  or  think,  but  I 
knew! — positively — that  he  had  that  hideous 
thing  on  his  person. 

Against  what  contingency  I  could  only 
ask  myself  and  wonder,  but  I  instantly  de 
cided  to  get  him  away  from  home  and  keep 
him  away  until  the  picnickers  had  got  back 
and  scattered.  So  I  proposed  a  walk,  a  di 
version  we  had  often  enjoyed  together. 

"  Yes?  "  he  said,  "  to  pazz  the  time  whilse 
they  don't  arrive?  With  the  greates'  of 
pleasu'e!" 

I  dare  say  we  were  both  more  preoccu 
pied  than  we  thought  we  were,  for  outside 
the  gate  we  fairly  ran  into  a  lady — yes;  a 
seamstress — the  wife  of  the  entomologist. 
My  stars!  She  had  seemed  winning  enough 
before,  but  now — what  a  rise  in  values !  As 
we  conversed  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep 
my  ey.es  from  saying:  "  A  man  with  you  for 
a  wife  belongs  at  home  whenever  he  can 
in 


Strong  Hearts 

be  there!"  But  whether  they  spoke  it  or 
not,  in  some  way,  without  word  or  glance, 
by  simple  radiations  from  the  whole  sweet 
woman,  she  revealed  that  to  make  that  fact 
plain  to  him,  to  her,  and  to  all  of  us,  was 
what  this  new  emphasis  of  charm  was  for. 

She  had  come,  she  said — and  scarcely  on 
the  lips  of  the  loveliest  Creole  did  I  ever 
hear  a  more  bewitching  broken-English — 
she  had  come  according  to  a  half-promise 
made  to  Mrs.  Fontenette  to  show  her — "  I 
tidn't  etsectly  promised,  I  chust  said  I  vill 
some  time  come " 

"  And  Mrs.  Fontenette  didn't  object,"  I 
playfully  interrupted — 

"No,"  said  the  unruffled  speaker,  "I 
chust  said  I  vill  come;  yes;  to  show  her  a 
new  vay  to  remoof,  remoof?  is  sat  English? 
So?  A  new  vay  to  remoof  old  stains." 

"  A  new  way — "  responded  Fontenette, 
with  an  air  of  gravest  interest  in  all  matters 
of  laundry. 

"  Yes,"  she  repeated,  as  simply  as  a  babe, 
"a  new  vay ;  and  I  sought  I  come  now  so 
to  go  home  viss  mine  hussbandt."  There, 
at  last,  she  smiled,  and  to  make  the  caress- 

112 


The  Entomologist 

ing  pride  of  her  closing  tone  still  prettier, 
lifted  her  figured  muslin  out  sidewise  be 
tween  thumb  and  forefinger  of  each  hand 
with  even  more  archaic  grace  than  playful 
ness. 

As  the  three  of  us  crossed  over  and  took 
seats  on  my  veranda,  we  were  joined  by 
the  neighbor  whose  garden-trees  I  have 
mentioned;  the  man  of  whom  I  have  told 
you,  how  he  failed  to  strike  a  bargain  with 
old  Manouvrier,  the  taxidermist.  He  was 
a  Missourian,  in  the  produce  business,  a 
thoroughly  good  fellow,  but — well — oh — ! 

He  came  perspiring,  flourishing  a  palm- 
leaf  fan  and  a  large  handkerchief,  to  say 
I  might  keep  all  the  shade  his  tall  house 
and  trees  dropped  on  my  side  of  the  fence. 
And  presently  what  does  the  simple  fellow 
do  but  begin  to  chaff  the  three  of  us  on  the 
absence  of  our  three  partners! 


Strong  Hearts 


VI 

I  HELD  my  breath  in  dismay !  The  more 
I  strove  to  change  the  subject  the  more 
our  fat  wag,  fancying  he  was  teasing  me 
to  the  delight  of  the  others,  harped  on  the 
one  string,  until  with  pure  apprehension  of 
what  Fontenette  might  presently  do  or  say, 
my  blood  ran  hot  and  cold.  But  Monsieur 
showed  neither  amusement  nor  annoyance, 
only  a  perfectly  gracious  endurance.  Yet 
how  could  I  know  what  instant  his  forbear 
ance  might  give  way,  or  what  serpent's  eggs 
the  joker's  inanities  might  in  the  next  day 
or  hour  turn  out  to  be,  laid  in  the  hot  heart 
of  the  Creole  gentleman?  Then  it  was  that 
this  slender  little  German  seamstress-wife 
shone  forth  like  the  first  star  of  the  breath 
less  twilight. 

Seamstress?  no;  she  had  left  the  seam 
stress  totally  behind  her.  You  might  have 
thought  the  finest  tactics  of  the  drawing- 
room — not  of  to-day,  but  of  the  times  when 
gentlemen  wore  swords  and  dirks — had 
been  at  her  finger-ends  all  her  life.  She 
114 


The  Entomologist 

took  our  good  neighbor's  giddy  pleasant 
ries  as  deep  truths  lightly  put,  and  answered 
them  in  such  graceful,  mild  earnest,  and 
with  such  a  modest,  yet  fetching,  quaint- 
ness,  that  we  were  all  preached  to  more 
effectively  than  we  could  have  been  by  seven 
priests  from  one  pulpit.  Or,  at  any  rate, 
that  was  my  feeling;  every  note  she  uttered 
was  melodiously  kind,  but  every  sentence 
was  an  arrow  sent  home. 

"  You  make  me,"  she  said,  "  you  make 
me  sink  of  se  aunt  of  my  musser,  vhat  she 
said  to  my  musser  vhen  my  musser  iss  get 
ting  married.  '  Senda,'  she  said,  '  vonce  in 
a  vhile  ' — is  sat  right,  '  vonce  in  a  vhile?  ' — 
so? — '  vonce  in  a  vhile  your  Rudolph  going 
to  see  a  voman  he  better  had  married  san 
you.  Sen  he  going  to  fall  a  little  vay — 
maybe  a  good  vay — in  love  viss  her;  and 
sen  if  Rudolph  iss  a  scoundtrel,  or  if  you  iss 
a  fool,  sare  be  trouble.  But  if  Rudolph 
don't  be  a  scoundtrel  and  you  don't  be  a 
fool  he  vill  pretty  soon  straight'  up  himself 
and  say,  One  man  can't  ever'sing  have,  and 
mine  Senda  she  is  enough!'  ...  Sat 
vas  my  Aunt  Senda." 
"5 


Strong  Hearts 

"  Your  mother  was  named  for  her?  " 

"  Yes,  my  musser,  and  me;  I  am  name* 
Senda,  se  same.  She  vas  se  Countess  von 
(Something) — sat  aunt  of  my  musser.  She 
vas  a  fine  voman." 

"  Still,"  said  our  joker,  "  you  know  she 
was  only  about  half  right  in  that  advice." 

"  No,"  she  replied,  putting  on  a  drowsy 
tone,  "  I  don't  know;  and  I  sink  you  don't 
know  eeser." 

"  I  reckon  I  do,"  he  insisted.  "  We're 
all  made  of  inflammable  stuff.  Any  man 
knows  that.  We  couldn't,  any  of  us,  pull 
through  life  decently  if  we  didn't  let  each 
other  be  each  other's  keeper;  could  we, 
Fontenette?  " 

No  sound  from  Fontenette.  "Hmm!" 
hummed  the  little  woman,  in  such  soft  de 
rision  that  only  he  and  I  heard  it;  and  after 
a  moment  she  said,  "  Yes,  it  is  so.  But, 
you  know  who  is  se  only  good  keeper?  Sat 
is  love." 

"And  jealousy,"  suggested  Bulk;  "the 
blindfold  boy  and  the  green-eyed  monster." 

"  Se  creen-eyedt — no,  I  sink  not.  Cha- 
lousie  have  destroyed — is  sat  correct? — 
116 


The  Entomologist 

yes?  Chalousie  have  destroyed  a  sowsand- 
sowsand  times  so  much  happiness  as  it  ever 
saved — ah!  see  se  lightening!  I  sink  sat 
is  se  displeasu'e  of  heaven  to  my  so  bad 
English.  Ah?  see  it  again?  Veil,  I  vill 
stop." 

"  You  ought  to  be  in  a  better  world  than 
this,"  laughed  our  fat  neighbor. 

"  No,"  she  chanted,  "  I  rasser  sis  one.  I 
sink  mine  hussbandt  never  be  satisfied  viss 
a  vorld  not  full  of  vorms  and  bugs;  and  I 
am  glad  to  stay  alvays  viss  mine  huss 
bandt." 

"  And  I  reckon  he  thinks  you're  big 
enough  world  for  him,  just  yourself,  doesn't 
he?" 

"  No."  She  seemed  to  speak  more  than 
half  to  herself.  "  A  man — see  se  lighten 
ing! — a  man  who  can  be  satisfied  viss  a 
vorld  no  bigger  as  I  can  by  mineself  gif 
him — mine  Kott!  I  vould  not  haf  such  a 
man!  See  se  lightening!  but  I  sink  sare 
vill  be  no  storm;  sare  is  no  sunder  viss  se 
ligh' — Ah !  sare  are  se  trhuants  !  "  We  rose 
to  meet  them.  First  came  the  children, 
vaunting  their  fatigue,  then  a  black  maid  or 
117 


Strong  Hearts 

two,  with  twice  their  share  of  baskets,  and 
then  our  three  spouses;  the  Baron  came  last 
and  was  mute.  The  two  ladies  called  cheery, 
weary  good-byes  to  another  contingent, 
that  passed  on  by  the  gate,  and  hail  and 
farewell  to  our  fat  neighbor  as  he  went 
home.  Then  they  yielded  their  small  bur 
dens  to  us,  climbed  the  veranda  stairs  and 
entered  the  house. 


VII 

No  battle,  it  is  said,  is  ever  fought,  and 
I  dare  say  no  game — worth  counting — is 
ever  played,  exactly  as  previously  planned. 
One  of  our  company  had  planned,  very 
secretly,  as  he  thought,  a  battle;  another, 
almost  openly,  was  already  waging  hers; 
while  a  third  was  playing  a  game — though 
probably,  I  admit,  fighting,  inwardly,  her 
poor  weak  battle  also;  and  none  of  the 
three  offered  an  exception  to  this  rule.  The 
first  clear  proof  of  it — which  it  still  gives 
me  a  low  sort  of  pleasure  to  recall — was  my 
prompt  discovery,  as  we  gathered  around 
the  tea-board,  to  eat  the  picnic's  remains, 
118 


The  Entomologist 

that  our  Flora  was  out  of  humor  with  the 
Baron.  It  was  plain  that  the  whole  day's 
flood  of  small  experiences  had  been  to  her 
pretty  vanity  a  Tantalus's  cup.  She  was 
quick  to  tell,  with  an  irritation,  which  she 
genuinely  tried  to  conceal,  and  with  scarce 
ly  an  ounce  of  words  to  a  ton  of  dead-sweet 
insinuation,  what  a  social  failure  he  had 
chosen  to  be.  Evidently  he  had  spent  every 
golden  hour  of  sweet  spiritual  opportunity 
— I  speak  from  her  point  of  view,  or,  at  least, 
my  notion  of  it — not  in  catching  and  com 
municating  the  charm  of  any  scene  or  inci 
dent,  nor  in  thrilling  comparisons  of  senti 
ment  with  anyone,  nor  in  any  impartation 
of  inspiring  knowledge,  nor  in  any  mirthful 
exchange  of  compliments  or  gay  glances 
over  the  salad  and  sandwiches;  but  in  con 
stantly  poking  and  plodding  through  thicket 
and  mire  and  solitarily  peering  and  prying 
on  the  under  sides  of  leaves  and  stems  and 
up  and  down  and  all  around  the  bark  of 
every  rough-trunked  tree. 

She  made  the  picture  amusing,  none  the 
less,  and  to  no  one  more  so  than  to  the 
Baron's  wife,  whose  presence  among  us  at 
119 


Strong  Hearts 

the  board  was  as  fragrant,  so  to  speak,  as 
that  of  a  violet  among  its  leaves  and  sisters. 
"Ah!  Gustaf,"  she  said,  with  a  cadenced 
gravity  more  taking  than  mirth,  "  sat  iss  a 
treat-ment  nobody  got  a  right  to  but  me. 
But  tell  me,  tell  se  company,  vhat  new  sings 
have  you  found?  I  know  you  have  not 
hunt'  all  se  day  and  nussing  new  found." 

But  the  Baron  had  found  nothing  new. 
He  told  us  so  with  his  mouth  dripping  and 
his  nose  in  the  trough — his  plate  I  should 
say.  You  could  hear  him  chew  across  the 
room.  Suddenly,  however,  he  ceased  eat 
ing  and  began  to  pour  forth  an  account  of 
his  day's  observation ;  in  response  to  which 
M.  Fontenette,  to  my  amused  mystification, 
led  us  all  in  the  interest  with  which  we  lis 
tened.  The  Baron  forgot  his  food,  and 
when  reminded  of  it,  pushed  it  away  with  a 
grunt  and  talked  on  and  on,  while  we  almost 
forgot  our  own. 

As  we  rose  to  return  to  the  veranda,  the 
Creole  still  offered  him  an  undivided  atten 
tion,  which  the  Baron  rewarded  with  his 
continued  discourse.  As  I  gave  Fontenette 
a  light  for  his  cigarette  I  held  his  eye  for  a 
120 


The  Entomologist 

moment  with  a  brightness  of  face  into  which 
I  put  as  significant  approval  as  I  dared;  for 
I  fancied  the  same  unuttered  word  was 
brooding  in  both  our  hearts:  "  A  new  vay 
to  remoof  old  stains." 

Then  he  turned  and  gave  all  his  attention 
once  more  to  the  entomologist,  as  they 
walked  out  upon  the  gallery  together  be 
hind  their  wives.  And  the  German  woman 
courted  the  pretty  New  Englander  as  sweet 
ly  as  the  Creole  courted  her  husband,  and 
with  twice  the  energy.  She  was  a  bubbling 
spring  of  information  in  the  Baron's  science; 
she  was  a  well  of  sweet  philosophy  on  life 
and  conduct,  and  at  every  turn  of  their  con 
versation,  always  letting  Mrs.  Fontenette 
turn  it,  she  showed  her  own  to  be  the  better 
mind  and  the  better  training. 

When  Mrs.  Fontenette,  before  any  one 
else,  rose  to  go — maybe  my  dislike  of  her 
only  made  it  seem  so — but  I  believed  she 
did  it  out  of  pure  bafflement  and  chagrin. 

Not  so  believed  her  husband.  He  re 
sponded  gratefully;  yet  lingered,  still  listen 
ing  to  the  entomologist,  until  she  fondlingly 
chid  him  for  forgetting  that  while  he  had 

121 


Strong  Hearts 

been  all  day  in  his  swivel-chair,  she  had 
passed  the  hours  in  unusual  fatigues ! 

She  declined  his  arm  in  our  garden  walk, 
and  positively  forbade  me  to  cut  a  rose  for 
her — but  with  a  grace  almost  maidenly.  As 
I  let  them  out,  the  heat-lightning  gleamed 
again  low  in  the  west.  A  playfulness  came 
into  M.  Fontenette's  face  and  he  murmured 
to  me,  "  See  se  lightening." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  pressing  his  hand,  "  but 
I  sink  sare  vill  be  no 'storm  if  sare  iss  no 
sunder." 

Mrs.  Fontenette  gave  a  faint  gasp  of  im 
patience  and  left  us  at  a  run,  tripping  fairily 
across  the  rough  street  at  the  only  point 
visible  to  those  on  the  veranda.  Fontenette 
scowled  unaware  as  he  started  to  follow,  and 
the  next  moment  a  short  "aha!"  escaped 
him.  For,  at  her  gate,  to  my  unholy  joy, 
she  stumbled  just  enough  to  make  the  whole 
performance  unspeakably  ridiculous,  and 
flirted  into  her  cottage 

"In  tears!"  I  offered  to  bet  myself  as 
I  turned  to  rejoin  my  companions  on  the 
veranda,  and  wished  with  all  my  soul  the 
goggled  Baron  could  have  seen  it. 

122 


The  Entomologist 


VIII 

BUT  the  best  of  eyes  would  not  have 
counted  this  time,  for  he  was  not  there.  He 
had  accepted  the  offer  of  a  room,  where  he 
was  giving  the  day's  specimens  certain 
treatments  which  he  believed,  or  pretended, 
could  not  wait  until  he  should  reach  his  far 
downtown  cottage.  His  hostess  and  his 
wife  had  gone  with  him,  but  now  some  light 
discussion  of  house  adornment  was  draw 
ing  them  to  the  parlor.  As  this  room  was 
being  lighted  I  saw  our  guest,  evidently 
through  force  of  an  early  habit,  turn  a  criti 
cal  glance  to  the  music  on  the  piano,  and  as 
quickly  withdraw  it.  Both  of  us  motioned 
her  solicitously  to  the  music-stool. 

"  No,  I  do  not  play." 

"  Then  you  sing." 

"  No,  not  now,  any  more  yet."  But  when 
she  had  let  us  tease  her  a  wee  bit  just  for 
one  little  German  song,  she  went  to  the  in 
strument,  talking  slowly  as  she  went,  and 
closing  the  door  in  the  entomologist's  di 
rection  as  she  talked. 

123 


Strong  Hearts 

"  Siss  a  great  vhile  I  haf  not  done  siss," 
she  concluded,  as  her  fingers  began  to  drift 
over  the  keys,  and  then  she  sang,  very 
gently,  even  guardedly,  but  oh,  so  sweetly! 

We  were  amazed.  Here,  without  the 
slightest  splendor  of  achievement  or  ad 
venture,  seemed  to  be  the  most  incredible 
piece  of  real  life  we  had  ever  seen.  Why, 
I  asked  myself,  was  this  woman  so  short 
even  of  German  friends  as  to  be  condemned 
to  a  seamstress's  penury?  And  my  best 
guess  was  to  lay  it  to  the  zeal  of  her  old- 
fashioned — and  yet  not  merely  old-fash 
ioned — wifehood,  which  could  accept  no 
friendship  that  did  not  unqualifiedly  accept 
him;  and  he? — Goodness! 

When  she  ceased  neither  listener  spoke; 
the  tears  were  in  our  throats.  She  bent  her 
head  slightly  over  the  keys,  and  said,  "  I 
like  to  sing  you  anusser."  We  accepted 
eagerly,  and  she  sang  again.  There  was 
nothing  of  personal  application  in  either 
song,  yet  now,  near  the  end,  where  there 
was  a  purposed  silence  in  the  melody,  the 
silence  hung  on  and  on  until  it  was  clear 
she  was  struggling  with  herself;  but  again 
124 


The  Entomologist 

the  strain  arose  without  a  tremor,  and  so 
she  finished.  "  Oh,  no,  no,"  she  replied,  to 
our  solicitation,  with  the  grateful  emphasis 
of  one  who  declines  a  third  glass,  "  se  sooneh 
I  stop,  se  betteh  for  ever'body,"  meaning 
specially  herself,  I  fancy,  speaking,  as  she 
rose,  in  a  tone  of  such  happy  decision,  and 
yet  so  melodiously,  that  two  or  three  strings 
in  the  piano  replied. 

Her  hostess  took  her  hands  and  said  there 
was  one  thing  she  could  and  must  do;  she 
and  her  husband  must  spend  the  night  with 
us.  There  was  a  bed-chamber  connected 
with  the  room  where  the  Baron  was  still  at 
work,  and,  really — this  and  that,  and  that 
and  this — until  in  the  heat  of  argument  they 
called  each  other  "  My  dear/'  and  presently 
the  ayes  had  it.  The  last  word  I  heard  from 
our  fair  guest  was  to  her  hostess  at  the  door 
of  her  chamber,  the  farthest  down  the  hall. 
It  was  as  to  shutting  or  not  shutting  the 
windows.  "  No,"  she  said,  "  I  sink  sare  vill 
be  no  storm,  because  sare  is  yet  no  sunder 
vis  se  lightening."  And  so  it  turned  out. 
But  at  the  same  time 


125 


Strong  Hearts 


IX 

MY  room  adjoined  the  Baron's  in  front 
as  his  wife's  did  farther  back.  A  door  of 
his  and  window  of  mine  stood  wide  open 
on  the  one  balcony,  from  which  a  flight  of 
narrow  steps  led  down  into  the  side  garden. 
Thus,  for  some  time  after  I  was  in  bed  I 
heard  him  stirring;  but  by  and  by,  with  no 
sound  to  betoken  it  except  the  shutting  of 
this  door,  it  was  plain  he  had  lain  down. 

I  awoke  with  a  sense  of  having  been  some 
hours  asleep,  and  in  fact  the  full  moon, 
shining  gloriously,  had  passed  the  meridian. 
The  balcony  was  lighted  up  by  it  like  noon, 
and  on  it  stood  the  entomologist,  entirely 
dressed.  The  door  was  shut  behind  him. 
He  was  looking  in  at  my  window,  but  he 
did  not  know  the  room  was  mine,  and  with 
eyes  twice  as  good  as  he  had  he  could  not 
have  seen  through  my  mosquito-bar.  I 
wondered,  but  lay  still  till  he  had  started 
softly  down  the  steps.  Then  I  sprang  out 
of  bed  on  the  dark  side,  and  dressed  faster 
than  a  fireman. 

126 


The  Entomologist 

When  half-clad  I  went  and  looked  out  a 
parlor  window.  He  was  trying  the  gate, 
which  was  locked.  But  he  knew  where  the 
key  always  hung,  behind  the  post,  and 
turned  to  get  it.  I  went  back  and  finished 
dressing,  stole  down  the  inner,  basement 
stairs  and  out  into  the  deep  shadows  of  the 
garden,  and  presently  saw  my  guest  passing 
in  through  the  Fontenettes'  gate,  whose 
bolt  he  had  drawn  from  the  outside.  As 
angry  now  as  I  had  been  amazed  I  hurried 
after. 

To  avoid  the  moonlight  I  followed  the 
shadows  of  the  sidewalk-trees  down  to  the 
next  corner,  to  cross  there  and  come  back 
under  a  like  cover  on  the  other  side.  But 
squarely  on  the  crossing  I  was  met  and 
stopped  by  a  belated  drunkard,  who  had  a 
proposition  to  make  to  me  which  he  thought 
no  true  gentleman,  such  as  he  was,  for  in 
stance,  could  decline.  I  was  alone,  he  asked 
me  to  notice;  and  he  was  alone;  but  if  he 
should  go  with  me,  which  he  would  be  glad 
to  do,  why,  then,  you  see,  we  should  be  to 
gether.  He  stuck  like  a  bur,  and  it  was 
minutes  before  I  got  him  well  started  off  in 
127 


Strong  Hearts 

his  own  right  direction.  I  slipped  to  the 
Fontenettes'  gate,  as  near  as  was  best,  and 
instantly  saw,  between  one  of  its  posts  and 
a  very  black  myrtle-orange,  Fontenette  him 
self,  standing  as  still  as  the  trees.  I  was 
not  in  so  deep  a  shade  as  he,  but  I  might 
have  stepped  right  out  into  the  moonlight 
without  his  seeing  me,  so  intensely  was  he 
watching  his  wife's  front  door.  For  there 
stood  the  entomologist.  He  had  evidently 
been  knocking,  and  was  about  to  knock 
again  when  there  came  some  response  from 
within,  to  which  he  replied,  in  a  suppressed 
yet  eager  and  agitated  voice,  "  Mine  Psyche! 
Oh,  mine  Psyche!  She  is  come  to  me  undt 
she  is  bringing  me  already  more  as  a  hoon- 
dredt — vhat?  "  He  had  been  interrupted 
from  within.  "  Vhat  you  say?  " 

Fontenette  drew  his  knife. 

I  stood  ready  to  spring  the  instant  he 
should  stir  to  advance.  I  realized  almost 
unbearably  my  position,  stealing  thus  at 
such  a  moment  on  the  heels  of  my  neigh 
bor  and  friend,  but  this  is  not  a  story  of 
feelings,  at  any  rate,  not  of  mine. 

"Vhat?"  said  the  entomologist.  "Go 
128 


The  Entomologist 

avay?  Mien  Gott!  No,  I  vill  not  ko  avay. 
Mien  gloryform!  Gif  me  first  mine  glory- 
form!  Dot  Psyche  hass  come  out  fon  ter 
grysalis!  she  hass  drawn  me  dot  room  full 
mit  oder  Psyches,  undt  you  haf  mine  pottle 
of  gloryform  in  your  pocket  yet!  Yes,  ko 
kit  ut;  I  vait;  ach!  "  Presently  he  seemed 
to  hear  from  inside  a  second  approach. 
Then  the  door  opened  an  inch  or  so,  and 
with  another  "  Ach! "  and  never  a  word  of 
thanks,  he  snatched  the  vial  and,  turning  to 
make  off  with  it,  came  nose  to  nose  with  M. 
Fontenette,  who  stood  in  the  moonlight 
gateway  holding  a  blazing  match  to  his 
cigarette. 

"  Well,  sir,  good-evening  again,"  said  the 
Creole.  I  noticed  the  perfection  of  his  dress ; 
evidently  he  had  not  as  yet  loosed  as  much 
as  a  shoestring.  And  then  I  observed  also 
that  the  visitor  so  close  before  him  was  with 
out  his  shoes. 

"  Good-evening — or,  good-morning,  per 
chance,"  said  Fontenette.  "  I  suepose  thaz 
a  great  thing  to  remove  those  old  stain'  that 
chloroform,  eh?" 

"  Ach!  it  iss  you?  Ach,  you  must  coom 
129 


Strong  Hearts 

— coom  undt  hellup  me!  Coom!  you  shall 
see  someding." 

"  A  moment,"  said  the  Creole.  "  May  I 
inquire  you  how  is  that,  that  you  call  on  us 
in  yo'  sock  feet?" 

"Ach!  I  am  already  t'e  socks  putting 
on  pefore  I  remember  I  do  not  need  t'em! 
But  coom!  coom!  see  a  vonderfool!"  He 
led,  and  Fontenette,  when  he  had  blown  a 
cloud  of  smoke  through  his  nose,  followed, 
saying  exclusively  for  his  own  ear: 

"A  wonder  fool,  yes!  But  a  fool  is  no 
wonder  to  me  any  more ;  I  find  myself  to 
be  that  kind." 


X 

WHEN,  hypocritically  clad  in  dressing- 
gown  and  slippers,  I  stopped  at  my  guest's 
inner  door  and  Fontenette  opened  it  just 
enough  to  let  me  enter,  I  saw,  indeed,  a  won 
derful  sight.  The  entomologist  had  lighted 
up  the  room,  and  it  was  filled,  filled!  with 
gorgeous  moths  as  large  as  my  hand  and 
all  of  a  kind,  dancing  across  one  another's 
airy  paths  in  a  bewildering  maze  or  alight- 
130 


The  Entomologist 

ing  and  quivering  on  this  thing  and  that. 
The  mosquito-net,  draping  almost  from 
ceiling  to  floor,  was  beflowered  with  them 
majestically  displaying  in  splendid  alterna 
tion  their  upper  and  under  colors,  or,  with 
wings  lifted  and  vibrant,  tipping  to  one  side 
and  another  as  they  crept  up  the  white  mesh, 
like  painted  and  gilded  sails  in  a  fairies' 
regatta. 

And  all  this  life  and  beauty,  this  gay  glory 
and  tremorous  ecstasy  and  effort  was  here 
for  moth-love  of  one  incarnate  fever  of  frail- 
winged  loveliness!  Oh!  to  what  unguessed 
archangelic  observation,  to  what  infinite  se 
raphic  compassion,  may  not  our  own 
swarming  race,  who  dare  not  too  much  pity 
ourselves,  be  but  just  such  dainty  ephem 
era!  Splendid  in  purposes,  intelligence, 
and  affections  as  these  in  colors  and  grace, 
glorious  when  on  the  wing,  and  marvellous 
still,  riddles  of  wonder,  even  when  crawling 
and  quivering,  tipping  and  swerving  from 
the  upright  and  true,  like  these  palpitating 
flowers  of  desire,  now  this  way  and  now 
that,  forever  drawn  and  driven  by  the  sweet 
tyrannies  of  instinct  and  impulse. 


Strong  Hearts 

So  rushed  the  thought  in  upon  me,  and 
if  it  was  not  of  the  divinest  or  manliest  in 
spiration,  at  least  it  took  some  uncharity 
out  of  me  for  the  moment.  As  in  mechanical 
silence  Fontenette  obeyed  the  busy  requests 
of  the  entomologist,  I  presently  looked  more 
on  those  two  than  on  the  winged  multitude, 
and  thought  on,  of  the  myriad  true  tales  of 
love-weakness  and  love-wrath  for  which 
they  and  their  two  pretty  mates  were  just 
now  so  unlucky  as  to  stand;  of  the  awful 
naturalness  of  such  things;  of  the  butterfly 
beauty  and  wonder — nay,  rather  the  divine 
possibilities  of  the  lives  such  things  so 
naturally  speed  to  wreck;  and  then  of  Tom 
Moore  almost  too  playfully  singing: 

Ah!   did  we  take  for  Heaven  above 

But  half  such  pains  as  we 
Take,  day  and  night,  for  woman's  love, 

What  Angels  we  should  be! 

But  while  I  moralized  there  came  a 
change.  Beneath  the  entomologist's  dark 
hand,  as  it  searched  and  hurried  through 
out  the  room,  the  flutter  of  wings  had  ceased 
as  under  a  wind  of  death. 
132 


The  Entomologist 

"  You  must  have  a  hundred  and  fifty  of 
them,"  I  said  as  the  last  victim  ceased  to 
flutter. 

"  Yes." 

"  Their  sale  is  slow,  of  course,  but  every 
time  you  sell  one,  you  ought  to  get " — I 
was  judging  by  some  prices  he  had  charged 
me — "  you  ought  to  get  two  dollars."  And 
I  secretly  rejoiced  for  Senda. 

"  I  not  can  afford  to  sell  t/em,"  he  re 
plied,  with  his  back  to  me. 

"Why,  how  so?" 

"  No,  it  iss  t'is  kind  vhat  I  can  exshange 
for  five,  six,  maybe  seven  specimenss  fon 
Ahfrica  undt  Owstrahlia.  No,  I  vill  not 
sell  t'em." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  I,  in  mortal  disgust. 
"  Fontenette,  I'm  going  to  bed."  And  Fon- 
tenette  went  too. 

The  next  day  was  cloudless — in  two 
hearts;  Senda's,  and  Fontenette's.  As  to 
the  sky,  that  is  another  matter;  one  of  the 
charms  of  that  warm  wet  land  is  that,  with 
all  its  sunshine,  it  is  almost  never  without 
clouds.  And  indeed  it  would  be  truer  to 
say  of  my  two  friends'  skies,  that  they  .had 
133 


Strong  Hearts 

clouds,  but  the  clouds  were  silvered  through 
with  happy  reassurances.  Jealousy,  we  are 
told,  once  set  on  fire,  burns  without  fuel; 
but  I  must  think  that  that  is  oftenest,  if  not 
always,  the  jealousy  of  a  selfish  love.  Or, 
rather — let  me  quote  Senda,  as  she  spoke 
the  only  other  time  she  ever  touched  upon 
the  subject  with  us.  Our  fat  neighbor  had 
dragged  it  in  again  as  innocently  as  a  young 
dog  brings  an  old  shoe  into  the  parlor,  and, 
the  Fontenettes  being  absent,  she  had  the 
nerve  and  wisdom  not  to  avoid  it.  Said  she: 

"  Some  of  us — not  all — have  great  power 
to  love.  Some,  not  all,  who  have  sis  power 
— to  love — have  also  se  power  to  trust.  Me, 
I  rasser  be  trustet  and  not  loved,  san  to  be 
loved  and  not  trustet." 

"  How  about  a  little  of  each  ?  "  asked  our 
neighbor. 

"  Oh!  If  se  nature  iss  little,  sat  iss,  may 
be,  very  veil — ?  "  She  spoke  as  kindly  as 
a  mother  to  her  babe,  but  he  stole  a  slow 
glance  here  and  there,  as  though  some  one 
had  shot  him  with  a  pea  in  church,  and 
dropped  the  theme. 

Which  I,  too,  will  do  when  I  have  noted 


The  Entomologist 

the  one  thing  I  had  particularly  in  mind  to 
say,  of  Fontenette :  that,  as  Senda  remarked 
— for  the  above  is  an  abridgment — "  I  rasser 
see  chalousie  vissout  cause,  san  cause  viss- 
out  chalousie; "  and  that  even  while  I  was 
witness  of  the  profound  ferocity  of  his 
jealousy  when  roused,  and  more  and  more 
as  time  passed  on,  I  was  impressed  with 
its  sweet  reasonableness. 

XI 

TIME  did  pass — in  days  and  weeks  of  that 
quiet  sort  which  make  us  forget  in  actual 
life  that  such  is  the  way  in  good  stories  also. 
Innumerable  crops  were  growing  in  the 
fields,  countless  ships  were  sailing  or  steam 
ing  the  monotonous  leagues  of  their  long 
wanderings  from  port  to  port,  some  empty, 
some  heavy-laden,  like  bees  between  garden 
and  hive: 

The  corn-tops  were  ripe  and  the  meadows  were  in  bloom 
And  the  birds  made  music  all  the  day. 

Many  of  our  days  must  not  be  the  wine, 
but  only  small  bits  of  the  vine,  of  life.    We 
135 


Strong  Hearts 

cannot  gather  or  eat  them;  we  can  only  let 
them  grow,  branch,  blossom,  get  here  and 
there  green  grapes,  scarce  a  tenth  of  a  tithe, 
in  bulk  or  weight,  of  the  whole  growth,  and 
"  in  due  season — if  we  faint  not  "  pluck  the 
purpled  clusters.  And  as  the  vine  is — much, 
too,  as  the  vine  is  tended,  so  will  be  the 
raisins  and  the  wine.  There  is  nothing  in 
life  for  which  to  be  more  thankful,  or  in 
which  to  be  more  diligent,  than  its  inter 
missions.  This  is  not  my  sermonizing.  I 
am  not  going  to  put  everything  off  upon 
"  Senda,"  but  really  this  was  hers.  I  have 
edited  it  a  trifle;  her  inability  to  make,  in 
her  pronunciation,  a  due  difference  between 
wine  and  vine  rather  dulled  the  point  of  her 
moral. 

Fontenette  remarked  to  her  one  Sunday 
afternoon  in  our  garden,  that  she  must  have 
got  her  English  first  from  books. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  didt.  Also  I  have 
many,  many  veeks  English  conversations 
lessons  befo'e  Ame'ica.  But  I  cannot  se 
pronunciation  get;  because  se  spelling. 
Hah!  I  can  not  sat  spelling  get!  " 
136 


The  Entomologist 

O,  but  didn't  I  want  to  offer  my  ser 
vices?  But,  like  Bunyan's  Christian,  I  re 
called  a  text  and  so  got  by;  which  text  was 
the  wise  saying  of  that  female  Solomon,  "  se 
aunt  of  my  muss-er " — "  One  man  can't 
ever'sing  have,  and  mine  " — establishment 
is  already  complete. 

Meantime,  Mrs.  Fontenette,  from  farthest 
off  in  our  group,  had  slipped  around  to  the 
Baroness.  She  spoke  something  low,  strok 
ing  her  downy  fan  and  blushing  with  that 
damsel  sweetness  of  which  her  husband  was 
so  openly  fond. 

"O  no,  I  sank  you!"  answered  Senda, 
in  an  undulating  voice.  "  I  sank  you  v'ey 
much,  but  I  cannot  take  se  time  to  come 
to  yo'  house,  and  I  cannot  let  you  take  se 
trouble  too  come  too  mine.  No,  if  I  can 
have  me  only  se  right  soughts,  and  find  me 
se  right  vords  for  se  right  soughts,  I  sink 
I  leave  se  p'onunciation  to  se  mercy  of 
P'ovidence." 

Mrs.  Fontenette  blushed  as  prettily  as  a 

child,  and  let  her  husband  take,  her  hand 

as  he  said,  "  The  Providence  that  wou'n' 

have  mercy  on  such  a  pronunshation  like 

137 


Strong  Hearts 

that — ah  well,  'twould  have  to  become  v'ey 
unpopular !  " 

"Anyhow/'  cooed  Senda,  "I  risk  it;" 
and  then  to  his  wife — "  For  se  present,  siss 
betteh  I  sew  for  you  san  spell  for  you." 

Thus  was  our  fair  neighbor  at  every  turn 
overmatched  by  the  trustful  love  of  the  man 
and  watchful  love  of  the  woman,  whose  fan 
cied  inferiority  was  her  excuse  for  an  illicit 
infatuation;  an  infatuation  which  little  by 
little  became  a  staring  fact — only  not  to 
Fontenette.  You  know,  you  can  hide  such 
a  thing  from  those  who  love  and  trust  you, 
but  not  long  from  those  who  do  not;  and 
if  you  are  not  old  in  sin — Flora  and  the 
Baron  were  infants — you  will  almost  cer 
tainly  think  that  a  condition  hid  from  those 
who  love  and  trust  you  is  hid  from  all!  O 
fools!  the  very  urchins  of  the  playground 
will  presently  have  found  you  out  and  be 
guessing  at  broken  laws,  though  there  be 
only  broken  faiths  and  the  anguish  of  first 
steps  in  perfidy. 

We  could  not  help  but  see,  and  yet  for 
all  our  seeing  we  could  not  help.  The  mat 
ter  never  took  on  flagrancy  enough  to  give 
138 


The  Entomologist 

ever  so  kind  an  intervener  a  chance  to  speak 
with  effect.  It  was  pitiful  to  see  how  little 
gratification  they  got  out  of  it;  especially 
she,  with  that  silly  belief  in  her  ability  to 
rekindle  his  spiritual  energies  and  lift  him 
into  the  thin  air  of  her  transcendentalisms; 
slipping,  nevertheless,  bit  by  bit,  down  the 
precipitous  incline  between  her  vaporous 
refinements  and  his  wallowing  animalisms; 
too  destitute  of  the  love  that  loves  to  give, 
or  of  courage,  or  of  cunning,  to  venture  into 
the  fires  of  real  passion,  but  forever  craving 
flattery  and  caresses,  and  for  their  sake  for 
ever  holding  him  over  the  burning  coals  of 
unfulfilled  desire. 

How  could  we  know  these  things  so 
positively? 

By  the  entomologist;  the  child  of  science. 
Science  yearns  ever  to  know  and  to  tell. 
Truth  for  truth's  sake!  He  had  no  strong 
moral  feeling  against  a  lie;  but  he  had  never 
had  the  slightest  use  for  a  lie,  and  a  prevari 
cation  on  his  tongue  would  have  been  as 
strange  to  him  as  castanets  in  his  palms. 
Guile  takes  alertness,  adroitness;  and  the 
slim  pennyworth  of  these  that  he  could  com- 


Strong  Hearts 

mand  he  used  up,  no  doubt,  on  Fontenette. 
I  noticed  that  after  an  hour  with  the  Creole 
he  always  looked  tortured  and  exhausted. 
With  us  he  was  artless  to  the  tips  of  his 
awful  finger-nails. 

Nor  was  Mrs.  Fontenette  a  skilful  dis 
sembler;  she  over-concealed  things  so  re- 
vealingly.  Then  she  was  so  helplessly 
enamoured  and  in  so  childish  a  way.  I 
venture  one  of  the  penalties  almost  any 
woman  may  have  to  pay  for  bringing  to 
the  altar  only  the  consent  to  be  loved  is  to 
find  herself,  some  time,  at  last,  far  from  the 
altar,  a  Titania,  a  love's  fool.  Our  Titania 
pointed  us  to  the  fact  that  the  Baron's  wife 
never  tried  to  divert  his  mind  from  the  one 
pursuit  that  enthralled  it;  and  she  borrowed 
one  of  our  garden  alleys  in  which  to  teach 
him — grace-hoops!  He  never  caught  one 
from  her  nor  threw  one  that  she  could  catch; 
but,  ah !  with  her  coaxing  and  commanding, 
her  sweet  taunting  and  reprimanding  and 
his  utter  lack  of  surprise  at  them,  how  much 
she  betrayed !  Fontenette  came,  learned  in 
a  few  throws,  and  was  charmed  with  the 
toys — a  genuine  lover  always  takes  to  them 
140 


The  Entomologist 

kindly — but  Mrs.  Fontenette  was  by  this 
time  tired,  and  she  never  again  felt  rested 
when  her  husband  mentioned  the  game. 

Furthermore,  their  countenances! — hers 
and  the  entomologist's — especially  when  in 
repose — you  could  read  the  depths  of  ex 
perience  they  had  sounded,  by  the  lines  and 
shadows  that  came  and  went,  or  stayed,  as 
one  may  read  the  depths  of  a  bay  by  the 
passing  of  wind  and  light,  day  by  day,  over 
its  waters — particularly  if  the  waters  are  not 
very  deep. 

They  made  painful  reading.  What  de 
grees  of  heart-wretchedness  came  and  went 
or  stayed  with  them,  we  may  have  over — 
we  may  have  underestimated.  God  knows. 
In  two  months  Mrs.  Fontenette  grew  visibly 
older  and  less  pretty,  yet  more  nearly  beau 
tiful;  while  he,  by  every  sign,  was  gradually 
awakening  back — or,  shall  we  not  say,  be 
ing  now  first  born? — to  life,  through  the 
pangs  of  a  torn  mind;  mind,  not  conscience; 
but  pangs  never  of  sated,  always  of  the  fam 
ished  sort. 


141 


Strong  Hearts 


XII 

IT  was  he  who  finally  put  the  very  seal 
of  confirmation  upon  both  our  hopes  and 
our  fears. 

The  time  was  the  evening  of  the  same 
Sunday  in  whose  afternoon  his  wife  had 
declined  those  transparent  spelling-lessons. 
A  certain  preacher,  noted  for  his  boldness, 
was  drawing  crowds  by  a  series  of  sermons 
on  the  text  "  Be  thou  clean,"  and  our  fat 
neighbor  and  his  wife  took  us,  all  six,  to 
hear  him.  Their  pew  was  well  to  the  front 
and  we  were  late,  so  that  going  down  the 
aisle  unushered,  with  them  in  the  lead — 
husband  and  spouse,  husband  and  spouse, 
four  couples — we  made  a  procession  which 
became  embarrassingly  amusing  as  the 
preacher  simultaneously  closed  the  Script 
ure  lesson  with,  "  And  Noah  went  in,  and 
his  sons,  and  his  wife,  and  his  sons'  wives 
with  him  into  the  ark." 

That  has  been  our  fat  neighbor's  best  joke 
ever  since,  though  he  always  says  after  it, 
"  The  poor  Baron!  "  and  often  adds—"  and 
142 


The  Entomologist 

poor  Mrs.  Fontenette !  Little  did  we  think/* 
etc.  But  he  has  never  even  suspected  their 
secret. 

The  entomologist  was  the  last  of  our  pew- 
full  to  give  heed  to  the  pulpit.  When  the 
preacher  said  that  because  it  was  a  year  of 
state  elections,  for  which  we  ought  already 
to  be  preparing,  he  had  in  his  first  discourse 
touched  upon  political  purity — cleanness  of 
citizenship — the  Baron  showed  no  interest. 
He  still  showed  none  when  the  speaker  said 
again,  that  because  the  pestilence  was  once 
more  with  us — that  was  in  the  terrible  visi 
tation  of  1878 — he  had  devoted  his  second 
discourse  to  the  hideous  crime  of  a  great 
city  whose  voters  and  tax-payers  do  not 
enable  and  compel  it  to  keep  the  precept, 
"  Be  thou  clean."  I  thought  of  the  clean 
little  home  from  whose  master  beside  me 
came  no  evidence  that  he  thought  at  all. 
But  the  moment  the  preacher  declared  his 
purpose  to  consider  now  the  application  of 
this  great  command  to  the  individual  life 
and  character  of  man  and  woman  as  simply 
man  and  woman,  the  entomologist  became 
the  closest  listener  in  the  crowded  throng. 


Strong  Hearts 

The  sermon  was  a  daring  one.  I  was 
struck  by  the  shrewd  concessions  with 
which  the  speaker  defined  personal  purity 
and  the  various  false  conceptions  of  it  that 
pass  current;  abandoning  the  entrenched 
hills,  so  to  speak,  of  his  church's  traditional 
rigor  and  of  many  conventional  rules,  and 
drawing  after  him  into  the  unfortified  plain 
his  least  persuadable  hearers  of  whatever 
churchly  or  unchurchly  prejudice,  to  sur 
round  them  finally  at  one  wide  sweep  and 
receive  their  unconditional  surrender.  His 
periods  were  not  as  embarrassing  to  a  mixed 
audience  as  my  citations  would  indicate. 
Those  that  I  bring  together  were  wisely 
subordinated  and  kept  apart  in  the  dis 
course,  and  ran  together  only  in  minds  like 
my  own,  eager  for  one  or  two  other  hearers 
to  be  specially  impressed  by  them.  And 
one,  at  least,  was.  Before  the  third  sentence 
of  the  main  discourse  was  finished  the  fierce 
ness  of  the  Baron's  attention  was  provoking 
me  to  ask  myself  whether  a  conscience  also 
was  not  coming  to  birth  in  him. 

In  a  spiritual-material  being,  said  the 
speaker,  the  spirit  has  a  rightful,  happy 
144 


The  Entomologist 

share  in  every  physical  delight,  and  no 
physical  delight  need  be  unclean  in  which 
the  spirit  can  freely  enjoy  its  just  share  as 
senior  member  in  the  partnership  of  soul 
and  body.  Without  this  spiritual  participa 
tion  it  could  not  be  clean,  though  church, 
state,  and  society  should  jointly  approve 
and  command  it.  Mark,  I  do  not  answer 
for  the  truth  of  these  things;  I  believe  them, 
but  that  is  quite  outside  of  our  story. 

The  commonest  error,  he  said,  of  those 
who  covet  spiritual  cleanness  is  to  seek  a 
purification  of  self  for  self-purification's 
sake. 

The  Baron  grunted.  He  was  drinking- 
in  the  words;  had  forgotten  his  surround 
ings. 

Only  those  are  clean,  continued  the 
speaker,  whose  every  act,  motive,  condition 
is  ordered  according  to  their  best  knowl 
edge  of  the  general  happiness,  whether  that 
happiness  is  for  the  time  embodied  in  mill 
ions,  or  in  but  one  beyond  themselves. 
Through  errors  of  judgment  they  may  fall 
into  manifest  outward  uncleannesses;  but 
they,  and  none  but  they,  are  clean  within. 
145 


Strong  Hearts 

Because  women,  he  went  on,  are  in  every 
way  more  delicately  made  than  men,  we 
easily  take  it  for  granted  they  are  more 
spiritual.  From  Genesis  to  Revelation  the 
Bible  never  does  so.  It  is  amazing  how 
feeble  a  sense  of  condemnation  women — 
even  as  compared  with  men — often  show 
for  the  spirit  of  certain  mic  /  ds  if  only  it 
be  unaccompanied  by  the  misdeed's  per 
formance;  or  what  loathing  so  many  of 
them — "  of  you,"  he  really  said,  and  the 
Baron  grunted  as  though  his  experience 
had  been  with  droves  of  them — what  loath 
ing  so  many  of  you  heap  upon  certain 
things  without  reference  to  the  spirit  by 
which  they  are  accompanied  and  on  which 
their  nobility  or  baseness,  their  cleanness  or 
foulness,  entirely  depends. 

Nothing  is  unclean  that  is  to  no  one  any 
where  unjust  or  unkind;  and  nothing  is  un 
just,  unkind,  or  unclean  which  cannot  easily 
be  shown  to  be  so  without  inventing  an 
eleventh  commandment.  To  him,  he  said, 
no  uncleanness  was  more  foul  than  that 
which,  not  for  kindness,  or  for  righteous 
ness,  but  for  a  fantastical,  self-centred  re- 
146 


The  Entomologist 

finement,  invents  some  eleventh  command 
ment  to  call  that  common  which  God  hath 
cleansed;  to  call  anything  brutish  which  the 
incarnation  of  the  soul  has  made  sacred  to 
spotless  affections. 

The  Baron  muttered  something  in  Ger 
man,  and  Fontenette  shut  his  mouth  tight 
and  straightened  up  in  approbation. 

At  the  close  of  the  service  we  were  not 
out  of  the  pew  before  our  escort  was  in 
troducing  Senda  to  his  friends  in  front  and 
behind  as  busily  and  elaborately  as  if  that 
was  what  we  had  come  for.  Twice  and 
again  she  cast  so  anxious  an  eye  upon  her 
husband — from  whom  Mrs.  Fontenette  had 
wisely  taken  shelter  behind  hers — that  I 
softly  said  to  her,  "  We'll  take  care  of  him." 

A  care  he  was!  All  the  way  down  the 
aisle,  amid  the  peals  of  the  organ,  he  com 
mented  on  the  sermon  aloud,  mostly  to  him 
self  but  also  to  whichever  of  us  he  could 
rub  his  glasses  against.  Sometimes  he 
mistook  others  for  us  until  they  stared.  His 
face  showed  a  piteous,  weary  distress,  his 
thin  hair  went  twenty  ways,  he  seemed 
scarcely  to  know  where  he  was  or  how  to 
147 


Strong  Hearts 

take  his  steps,  and  presently  was  saying  to 
a  strange  lady  crowded  against  him,  as 
though  it  was  with  her  he  had  been  talking 
all  along: 

"  Undt  vhy  shall  ve  haf  t'at  owfool 
troubple?  No-o,  t'at  vould  kill  me!  I  am 
not  a  cat  to  keep  me  alvays  clean — no  more 
as  a  hogk  to  keep  me  always  not  clean. 
No,  I  keep  me — owdside — inside — always 
so  clean  as  it  comes  eassy,  undt  I  leave  me 
so  dirty  as  it  comes  eassy." 


XIII 

I  TOOK  his  arm  into  mine — his  hand  was 
hot — and  drew  him  on  alone.  "  Undt  t'ose 
vomens,"  he  persisted  in  the  vestibule,  "  t'ey 
are  more  troubple  yet  as  t'eir  veight  in 
goldt!  I  vish,  mine  Gott!  t'ere  be  no  more 
any  vomens  ut  all,  undt  ve  haf  t'e  shiltern  by 
mutchinery." 

On  the  outer  steps  I  sprang  with  others 

to  save  a  young  girl,  who  had  stumbled, 

from  pitching  headlong  to   the   sidewalk. 

Once  on  her  feet  again,  after  a  limp  or  two 

148 


The  Entomologist 

she  walked  away  uninjured;  but  when  I 
looked  around  for  my  real  charge  he  was 
not  in  sight.  I  hurried  to  Fontenette  and 
his  wife  a  few  steps  away,  but  he  was  not 
with  them.  The  three  of  us  turned  back 
and  came  upon  the  rest  of  our  group,  but 
neither  had  they  seen  him.  Our  other 
neighbor  said  he  must  have  got  into  a  car. 
I  asked  Senda  if  it  was  likely  he  would  go 
home  without  trying  to  find  us,  and  she  re 
plied  that  he  might;  but  when  we  had  all 
looked  at  one  another  for  a  moment  she 
added,  with  a  distinct  tremor  of  voice — and 
I  saw  that  she  feared  temptation  and  con 
science  had  unsettled  his  wits — "  I  sink  he 
iss  not  ve'y  veil.  I  sink  he  is  maybe — I  ton't 
know,  but — I — I  sink  he  iss  not  ve'y  veil." 
She  averted  her  face. 

She  agreed  with  us,  of  course,  that  there 
was  no  call  for  alarm,  and  Mrs.  Smith  and 
I  had  to  plead  that  we  could  not,  the  six 
of  us,  let  her  go  home,  away  downtown, 
alone,  while  we  should  go  as  far  the  other 
way  and  remain  all  night  ignorant  of  her 
husband's  whereabouts.  So  our  next  door 
neighbor,  my  wife  and  I  went  with  her,  and 
149 


Strong  Hearts 

his  wife  and  the  Fontenettes  went  home; 
for  a  conviction  probably  common  to  us  all, 
but  which  no  one  cared  to  put  into  down 
right  words,  was  that  the  entomologist, 
whether  dazed  or  not,  might  wander  up  to 
one  of  our  homes  in  preference  to  his  own. 
In  the  street-car  and  afterward  for  a  full 
hour  at  her  house,  Senda  was  very  silent, 
only  saying  now  a  little  and  then  a  little 
more. 

"He  iss  all  right!  He  vill  sure  come. 
Many  times  he  been  avay  se  whole  night. 
Sat  is  se  first  time  I  am  eveh  afraid;  is  sat 
se  vay  when  commencing  to  grow  old? 
Yes,  I  sink  sat  is  se  reason." 

When  we  had  been  at  her  cottage  for 
nearly  an  hour,  my  neighbor  started  out 
on  a  systematic  search;  and  half  an  hour 
later,  I  left  Mrs.  Smith  with  her  and  went 
also. 

About  one  o'clock  in  the  night,  I  came 
back  as  far  as  the  corner  nearest  her  house, 
but  waited  there,  by  appointment,  with  my 
neighbor;  and  very  soon — stepping  softly 
— he  appeared. 

"  No  sign  of  him?" 


The  Entomologist 

"  None." 

"  You  don't  suppose  he's  done  himself 
any  violence,  do  you?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,  no.    O  no." 

"  And  yet,"  he  said,  "  I  think  we  ought 
to  tell  the  police  at  once." 

I  advanced  some  obvious  objections. 
"  At  any  rate,"  I  said,  "  go  in,  will  you, 
please,  and  see  if  he  hasn't  come  home, 
while  we  were  away." 

"Why,  yes,  that  is  the  first  thing," 
laughed  he,  and  went. 

As  I  waited  for  him  in  the  still  street,  I 
heard  far  away  a  quick  footstep.  By  and 
by  I  saw  a  man  pass  under  a  distant  lamp, 
coming  toward  me.  I  looked  with  all  my 
eyes.  Just  then  my  neighbor  came  back. 
"  Listen,"  I  murmured.  "  Watch  when  that 
man  comes  under  the  next  light." 

He  watched.    "  It's  Fontenette!  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  Creole  as  he  joined  us, 
"  he's  yondeh  all  right — except  sick. 

"  Yes,  he  cou'n't  tell  anybody  where  to 
take  him,  and  a  doctor  found  that  letteh  on 
him  print'  outside  with  yo'  uptown  address; 
and  so  he  put  him  in  a  cab  an'  sen'  him 


Strong  Hearts 

yondeh,  and  sen'  word  he  muz  'ave  been 
sick  sinze  sev'l  hours,  an'  get  him  in  bed 
quick  don't  lose  a  minute." 

"  And  so  he's  in  bed  at  my  house !  "  I  put 
in  approvingly. 

"  Ah,  no !  I  coul'n'  do  like  that ;  but  I 
do  the  bes'  I  could;  he  is  at  my  'ouse  in  bed. 
An'  my  own  doctor  sen'  word  what  to  do 
an'  he'll  come  in  the  mawning.  And  (to 
our  neighbor)  yo'  madame  do  uz  that  kine- 
ness  to  remain  with  Madame  Fontenette 
whiles  I'm  bringing  his  wife." 

At  the  cottage  my  companions  remained 
outside.  As  I  entered  Senda  caught  one 
glance  and  exclaimed,  "  Ah,  mine  huss- 
bandt  is  foundt  andt  is  anyhow  alife! " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  but  he's  ill.  Mr.  Fon 
tenette  met  him  and  took  him  to  his  house. 
He's  there  now  with  Mrs.  Fontenette  and 
Mrs.  Blank.  Get  a  change  of  dress  and 
come,  we'll  all  go  together." 

Senda  stared.  "  A  shange  of  dtress?  " 
Then,  with  a  most  significant  mingling  of 
relief  and  new  disturbance,  she  said,  "  Ah, 
I  see !  "  and  looking  from  me  to  Mrs.  Smith 
and  from  Mrs.  Smith  to  me,  while  she 
152 


The  Entomologist 

whipped  her  bonnet  ribbons  into  a  bow,  she 
cried,  with  shaking  voice  and  streaming 
eyes: 

"  Oh,  sank  Koft!  sank  Kott!  it  iss  only 
se  yellow  feveh." 


XIV 

No  sick  man  could  have  been  better  cared 
for  than  was  the  entomologist  at  our  neigh 
bor's  over  the  way.  "  The  fever,"  as  in  the 
Creole  city  it  used  to  be  sufficiently  dis 
tinguished,  is  not  so  deadly,  nor  so  treacher 
ous,  nor  nearly  so  repulsive,  as  some  other 
maladies,  but  none  requires  closer  attention. 
After  successive  days  and  nights  of  unre 
mitting  vigilance,  should  there  occur  a 
momentary  closing  of  the  nurse's  eyes,  or  a 
turning  from  the  bedside  for  a  quarter  of  a 
minute,  the  irresponsible  patient  may  at 
tempt  to  rise  and  may  fall  back  dying  or 
dead.  So,  the  attendant  must  have  an  at 
tendant.  In  the  case  of  the  entomologist, 
his  wife  became  the  bedside  nurse  and 
sentinel. 

'53 


Strong  Hearts 

In  the  next  room,  now  and  then  Mrs. 
Smith,  and  now  and  then  our  fat  neighbor's 
wife,  waited  on  her,  but  by  far  the  most  of 
the  time,  Mrs.  Fontenette  was  her  assistant. 
When  Senda,  while  the  patient  dozed,  stole 
brief  moments  of  sleep  to  keep  what  she 
could  of  her  overtasked  powers,  her  place, 
at  the  bedside,  was  always  filled  by  Fon 
tenette,  who  as  often  kept  his  promise  to 
call  her  the  instant  her  husband  should 
rouse. 

Thus  we  brought  our  precious  entomol 
ogist  through  the  disorder's  first  crisis, 
which  generally  comes  exactly  on  the  sev 
enty-second  hour,  and  in  due  time  through 
the  second,  which  falls,  if  I  remember  aright, 
on  the  ninth  day.  What  I  do  recall  with 
certainty,  was  that  it  came  on  one  of  the 
days  of  the  city's  heaviest  mortality  and  that 
two  of  our  children,  and  my  next  neighbor's 
wife,  came  down  with  the  scourge. 

And  O,  the  beautiful  days  and  the  beau 
tiful  nights!  It  seemed  the  illusion  of  a 
dream,  that  between  such  land  and  sky, 
there  should  be  not  one  street  in  that  em 
bowered  city  unsmitten  by  sorrow  and 
'54 


The  Entomologist 

death.  Out  of  yonder  fair  home  on  the 
right,  they  carried  yesterday,  the  loved 
mother  of  five  children — but  the  Baron  is 
better.  From  this  one  on  the  left,  will  be 
borne  to-morrow  such  a  man  as  no  city  can 
lightly  spare,  till  now  a  living  fulfilment  of 
the  word  "  Be  thou  clean  " — but  the  ento 
mologist  will  be  ever  so  much  better. 

To  be  glad  of  it,  you  needed  only  to  hear 
Senda  allude  to  him  as  "  Mine  hussbandt." 
Why  did  she  never  mention  him  in  any 
other  way?  The  little  woman  was  a  riddle 
to  me.  I  did  not  see  how  she  could  give 
such  a  man  such  a  love,  and  yet  I  never 
could  see  but  she  was  as  frank  as  a  public 
record.  Stranger  still  was  it  how  she  could 
be  the  marital  partner — the  mate,  to  speak 
plainly — of  such  a  one,  without  showing  or 
feeling  the  slightest  spiritual  debasement. 
Finally,  however,  I  caught  some  light.  I 
had  stepped  over  to  ask  after  "  Mine  huss 
bandt,"  everyone  else  of  us  being  busy  with 
our  own  sick.  Senda  was  letting  Fontenette 
take  her  place  in  the  sick-room,  which,  of 
course,  was  shut  close.  I  silently  entered 
the  room  in  front  of  it,  and  perceiving  that 
155 


Strong  Hearts 

Mrs.  Fontenette  had  drawn  her  into  the 
other  front  room,  adjoining — a  door  stood 
half  open  between — and  was  tempting  her 
with  refreshments,  I  sat  down  to  await  their 
next  move.  So  presently  I  began  to  hear 
what  they  said  to  each  other  in  their  gentle 
speculations. 

"  A  wife  who  has  realized  her  ideal,"  Mrs. 
Fontenette  was  saying,  when  Senda  inter 
rupted: 

"Ah!  vhat  vife  is  sat?  In  vhat  part  of 
se  vorldt  does  she  lif,  and  how  long  she  is 
marriedt?  No-o,  no!  Sare  is  only  vun 
kindt  of  vife  in  se  whole  vorldt  vhat  realize 
her  ideal  hussbandt;  and  sat  is  se  vife  vhat 
idealize  her  real  hussbandt.  Also  not  se 
hussbandt  and  se  vife  only ;  I  sink  you  even 
cannot  much  Christ-yanity  practice  vis  any 
body — close  related — vissout  you  idealize 
sem.  But  ze  hussbandt  and  vife — 

"  You  remembeh  sat  sehmon,  '  Be  ' — O 
yes,  of  course.  Veil,  sat  is  vun  sing  se 
preacher  forget  to  say — May  be  he  haf  not 
se  time,  but  I  sink  he  forget:  sat  sare  is  no 
hussbandt  in  se  whole  vorldt — and  also  sare 
is  no  vife — so  sp' — spirit' — spirited?  no? 


The  Entomologist 

Ah,  yes — spiritual! — yes,  sank  you.  Vhen 
I  catch  me  a  bigk  vord  I  am  so  proudt,  yet, 
as  I  hadt  a  fish  caught! " 

I  was  willing  to  believe  it,  but  thought 
how  still  more  true  it  was  of  Mrs.  Fon- 
tenette.  But  the  gentle  speaker  had  not 
paused.  "  Sare  iss  no  vife  so  spiritual,"  she 
repeated,  triumphantly,  "  and  who  got  a 
hussbandt  so  spiritual,  sat  eeser  vun — do 
you  say  '  eeser  vun  '  ?  " 

"  Either  one,"  said  her  hostess,  reassur 
ingly. 

"  Yes,  so  spiritual  sat  eeser  vun  can  keep 
sat  rule  inside — to  be  pairfect'  clean,  if  sat 
vun  do  not  see  usseh  vun  idealise." 

I  made  a  stir — "Hmm!"  Whereupon 
she  came  warily  to  the  door.  I  sat  en 
grossed  in  a  book  and  wishing  I  could  si 
lently  crawl  under  it  snake  fashion;  but  I 
could  feel  her  eyes  all  over  me,  and  with 
them  was  a  glimmering  smile  that  helped 
them  to  make  .me  tingle  as  she  softly 
spoke. 

"Ah!  -See  se  book-vorm!  He  iss  all 
eyes — and  ee-ahs.  Iss  it  not  so?  " 

"Pardon,"  I  murmured;  "did  you  spe' 
157 


Strong  Hearts 

— has  any  one  been  speaking  and  I  have 
failed  to  give  attention  ?" 

"  O  no,  sir!  I  sink  not!  Veil,  you  are 
velcome  to  all  you  haf  heardt;  but  I  am 
ve'y  much  oblige'  to  you  for  yo'  '  hmm.' 
It  vas  se  right  sing  in  se  right  place.  But 
do  you  not  sink  I  shouldt  haf  been  a 
pre-eacheh?  I  love  to  preach." 

I  said  I  knew  of  three  men  in  one  neigh 
borhood  with  whom  she  might  start  a 
church,  and  asked  how  was  the  Baron. 

Improving — would  soon  be  able  to  sit 
up.  She  inquired  after  my  children. 

It  was  quite  in  accord  with  a  late  phase 
of  Mrs.  Fontenette's  demeanor  that  on  this 
occasion  she  did  not  appear  until  I  men 
tioned  her.  She  had  not  come  near  me  by 
choice  since  the  night  the  Baron  was  found 
and  sent  to  my  address,  although  I  certainly 
was  in  every  way  as  nice  to  her  as  I  had 
ever  been,  and  I  was  not  expecting  now  to 
be  less  so. 

When  she  appeared  I  asked  her  if  a  superb 
rose  blooming  late  in  August  was  not  worth 
crossing  to  our  side  of  the  way  to  see.  She 
knew,  of  course,  that  sooner  or  later,  as  the 

158 


The  Entomologist 

best  of  a  bad  choice,  she  must  allow  me  an 
interview;  yet  now  she  was  about  to  de 
cline  on  some  small  excuse,  when  her  eyes 
met  mine,  and  she  saw  that  in  my  opinion 
the  time  had  come.  So  she  made  her  ex 
cuses  to  her  guest  and  went  with  me. 

She  gave  the  rose  generous  notice  and 
praise,  and  as  she  led  the  way  back  lingered 
admiringly  over  flower  after  flower.  Yet 
she  said  little;  more  than  once  she  paused 
entirely  to  let  me  if  I  chose  change  the  sub 
ject,  and  when  at  the  gate  I  did  so,  she 
stood  like  a  captive,  looking  steadily  into 
my  face  with  eyes  as  helpless  as  a  half- 
fledged  bird's  and  as  lovely  as  its  mother's. 
When  I  drew  something  from  my  breast 
pocket,  they  did  not  move. 

"This,"  I  said,  "is  the  letter  that  was 
found  on  the  Baron  the  night  he  was  taken 
ill.  Your  husband  handed  it  to  me  suppos 
ing,  of  course,  I  had  written  it,  as  it  was  in 
one  of  my  envelopes,  and  he  happens  not 
to  know  my  handwriting.  But  I  did  not 
write  it.  I  had  never  seen  it,  yet  it  was 
sent  in  one  of  my  envelopes.  I  haven't 
mentioned  it  to  anyone  else,  because — you 
'59 


Strong  Hearts 

see? — I  hope  you  do.  I  thought — well, 
frankly,  I  thought  if  I  should  mention  it 
first  to  you  I  might  never  need  to  mention 
it  to  anyone  else."  I  waited  a  moment  and 
then  asked,  eyes  and  all :  "  Who  could  have 
sent  it?" 

"  Isn't,"  she  began,  but  her  voice  failed, 
and  when  it  came  again  it  was  hardly  more 
than  a  whisper,  "  isn't  it  signed?  " 

Now,  that  was  just  what  I  did  not  know. 
Whatever  the  thing  was,  I  had  never  taken 
it  from  the  envelope.  But  the  moment  she 
asked  I  knew.  I  knew  it  bore  no  signature. 
We  gazed  into  each  other's  eyes  for  many 
seconds  until  hers  tried  to  withdraw.  Then 
I  said — and  the  words  seemed  to  drop  from 
my  lips  unthought — "  It  didn't  have  to  be 
signed,  Mrs.  Fontenette,  although  the  hand 
writing  is  disguised." 

Poor  Flora!  I  can  but  think,  even  yet, 
I  was  kinder  than  if  I  had  been  kind;  but 
it  was  brutal,  and  I  felt  myself  a  brute,  thus 
to  be  holding  her  up  to  herself  there  on 
the  open  sidewalk  where  she  dared  not  even 
weep  or  wring  her  hands  or  hide  her  face, 
but  only  make  idle  marks  on  the  brick 
160 


The  Entomologist 

pavement  with  her  tiny  boots — and  trem 
ble. 

"  I — I  had  to  write  it,"  she  began  to  reply, 
and  her  words,  though  they  quivered,  were 
as  mechanical  as  mine.  "  He  was  so — so — 
imprudent — my  husband's  happiness  re 
quired " 

I  stopped  her.  "  Please  don't  say  that, 
Mrs.  Fontenette.  Pardon  me,  but — not 
that,  please."  I  felt  for  an  instant  quite 
cruel  enough  to  have  told  her  what  ebb 
tides  she  had  given  that  husband's  happi 
ness;  what  he  had  been  so  near  doing  and 
had  been  led  back  from  only  by  the  abso 
lute  christliness  of  that  other  woman  and 
wife,  whose  happiness  scarcely  seemed  ever 
to  have  occurred  to  her;  but  that  was  his 
secret,  not  mine. 

She  broke  a  silence  with  a  suppressed 
exclamation  of  pain,  while  for  the  eyes  of 
possible  observers  I  imitated  her  in  a  non 
chalant  pose.  "  You  wouldn't  despise  me 
if  you  knew  the  half  I've  suffered  or  how 
I've  striv " 

I  interrupted  again.  "  O  Mrs.  Fonte 
nette,  any  true  gentleman — at  thirty-five — 
161 


Strong  Hearts 

knows  it  all — himself.  And  he  had  better 
go  and  cut  his  throat  than  give  himself  airs, 
even  of  pity,  over  a  lady  who  has  made  a 
misstep  she  cannot  retrace." 

Her  foot  played  with  a  brick  that  was 
loose  in  the  pavement,  but  she  gave  me  a 
melting  glance  of  gratitude.  After  a  con 
siderable  pause  she  murmured,  "  I  will  re 
trace  it." 

"  I  have  kept  you  here  a  good  while," 
I  said.  "  After  a  moment  or  so  drop  your 
handkerchief,  and  as  I  return  it  to  you  the 
letter  will  be  with  it.  Or,  better,  if  you 
choose  to  trust  me,  we'll  not  do  that,  but  as 
soon  as  I  get  into  the  house  I'll  burn  it." 

"  I  can  trust  you,"  she  replied,  "  but " 

"  What ;  the  Baron — when  he  misses  it  ? 

0  I'll  settle  that." 

She  gave  a  start  as  though  I  had  shouted. 

1  thought  it  a  bad  sign  for  the  future,  and 
the   words    that    followed    seemed    to    me 
worse.     "  Isn't  it  my  duty,"  she  asked — 
and  her  eyes  betrayed  unconsciously  the 
desperateness  of  her  desire — "  to  explain  to 
him  myself?  " 

I  answered  with  a  question.     "  Would 
162 


The  Entomologist 

that  be  in  the  line  of  retracement,  Mrs. 
Fontenette?" 

"  It  would!  "  she  responded,  with  solemn 
eagerness.  "O  it  would  be!  It  shall  be! 
I  promise  you! " 

"Mrs.  Fontenette,"  said  I,  "consider. 
If  his  wife  " — she  flinched ;  she  could  do 
so  now,  for  the  sudden  semi-tropical  dark 
ness  had  fallen — "  if  his  wife — or  your  hus 
band  " — she  bit  her  lip — "  knew  all — would 
they  think  that  your  duty?  Would  it  take 
them  an  instant  to  refuse  their  consent? 
Would  they  not  firmly  insist  that  it  is  your 
duty  never  again  to  see  him  alone?  " 

Her  only  reply  was  an  involuntary  moan 
and  a  whitening  of  the  face,  and  for  the  first 
time  I  saw  how  deep  into  her  soul  the  poi 
son  had  gone. 

"  My  friend,"  I  continued,  "  you  must  not 
think  me  meddlesome — officious.  I  can  no 
more  wait  for  your  permission  to  help  you 
than  if  you  were  drowning.  Perhaps  for 
good  reasons  within  me,  I  know,  better  than 
you,  that  you — and  he — are  on  a  slippery 
incline,  and  that  whether  you  can  stop  your 
descent  and  creep  back  to  higher  ground 
163 


Strong  Hearts 

than  either  of  you  has  slipped  from  is  not 
to  be  told  by  the  fineness  of  your  promises 
or  resolves.  I  cannot  tell;  you  cannot  tell; 
only  God  knows."  .  .  . 

"  Please,  sir,"  said  a  new  maid — in  place 
of  one  who  had  gone  home  fever-struck  and 
had  died — "  yo'  lady  saunt  me  fo'  to  tell 
you  yo'  little  boy  a  sett'n  on  de  back  steps 
an*  sayin'  his  head  does  ache  him,  an'  she 
wish  you'd  'ten'  to  him,  'caze  she  cayn't 
leave  his  lill'  sisteh,  'caze  she  threaten  with 
convulsion'." 


XV 

MRS.  FONTENETTE  and  the  maid  silently 
ran  in  ahead  of  me;  I  went  first  to  the 
mother.  When  I  found  Mrs.  Fontenette 
again  she  had  the  child  undressed  and  in 
his  crib,  and  I  remembered  how  often  I  had, 
in  my  heart,  called  her  a  coward. 

She  saw  me  pencil  on  a  slip  of  paper  at 
the  mantelpiece,  and  went  and  read — "  You 
mustn't  stay.  He  has  the  fever.  You've 
never  had  it." 

164 


The  Entomologist 

She  wrote  beneath — "  I  should  have  got 
it  weeks  ago  if  God  paid  wages  every  day. 
Don't  turn  me  off." 

I  dropped  the  paper  into  the  small  fire 
grate,  added  the  other  from  my  breast 
pocket,  and  set  them  ablaze,  and  the  new 
maid,  entering,  praised  burning  paper  as 
one  of  the  best  deodorizers  known. 

So  my  dainty  rose-neighbor  stayed; 
stayed  all  night,  and  all  the  next  day  and 
night,  and  on  and  on  with  only  flying  visits 
to  her  home  over  the  way,  until  we  were 
amazed  at  her  endurance.  The  little  fel 
low  was  never  at  ease  with  her  out  of  his 
wild  eyes.  Her  touch  was  balm  to  him,  and 
her  words  peace.  Oh,  that  they  might  have 
been  healing  also!  But  that  was  beyond 
the  reach  of  all  our  striving.  His  days  were 
as  the  flowers  and  winged  things  of  the 
garden-kingdom,  wherein  he  had  been — 
without  ever  guessing  it — their  citizen- 
king. 

It  awakens  all  the  tenderness  at  once  that 
I  ever  had  for  Mrs.  Fontenette,  to  recall 
what  she  was  to  him  in  those  hours,  and  to 
us  when  his  agonies  were  all  past,  and  he 


Strong  Hearts 

lay  so  stately  on  his  short  bier,  and  she 
could  not  be  done  going  to  it  and  looking 
— looking — with  streaming  eyes. 

As  she  stood  close  by  the  tomb,  while  we 
dumbly  watched  the  masons  seal  it,  I  be 
gan  to  believe  that  she  blamed  herself  for 
the  child's  sickness  and  death,  and  presently 
I  knew  it  must  be  so.  One  of  those  quaint 
burial  societies  of  Negro  women,  in  another 
quarter  of  the  grounds,  but  within  plain 
hearing,  chose  for  the  ending  of  their  burial 
service — with  what  fitness  to  their  burial 
service  I  cannot  say,  maybe  none — a  hymn 
borrowed,  I  judge,  from  the  rustic  whites, 
as  usual,  but  Africanized  enough  to  thrill 
the  dullest  nerves ;  and  the  moment  it  began 
my  belief  was  confirmed. 

My  sin  is  so  dahk,  Lawd,  so  dahk  and  so  deep, 
My  grief  is  so  po',  Lawd,  so  po'  and  so  mean, 

I  wisht  I  could  weep,  Lawd,  I  wisht  I  could  weep, 
Oh,  I  wisht  I  could  weep  like  Mary  Mahgaleen! 

Oh,  Sorroh!  sweet  Sorroh!  come,  welcome,  and 

stay! 

I'd  welcome  thy  swode  howsomever  so  keen, 
If  I  could  jes'  pray,  Lawd,  if  I  could  jes'  pray, 
Oh!  if  I  could  jes'  pray,  like  Mary  Mahgaleen! 
166 


The  Entomologist 

My  belief  was  confirmed,  I  say;  but  I  was 
glad  to  see  also  that  no  one  else  read  as  I 
read  the  signs  by  which  I  was  guided.  At 
the  cemetery  gate  I  heard  some  one  call — 
"  Yo'  madam  is  sick,  sih,"  and,  turning, 
saw  Mrs.  Fontenette,  deathly  white,  lift  her 
blue  eyes  to  her  husband  and  he  get  his  arm 
about  her  just  in  time  to  save  her  from  fall 
ing.  She  swooned  but  a  moment,  and,  in 
the  carriage,  before  it  started  off,  tried  to  be 
quite  herself,  though  very  pale. 

"  It's  nothing  but  the  reaction,"  said  to 
me  the  lady  who  fanned  her,  and  we  agreed 
it  was  a  wonder  she  had  held  up  so  long. 

"Hyeh,  honey,"  put  in  the  child's  old 
black  nurse,  in  a  voice  that  never  failed  to 
soothe,  however  grotesque  its  misinterpre 
tations,  "lay  yo'  head  on  me;  an'  lay  it 
heavy:  dass  what  I'm  use-en  to.  Blessed 
is  de  pyo  in  haht;  she  shall  res'  in  de  fea'  o' 
de  Lawd,  an'  he  shall  lafe  at  heh  calam- 
ity." 

I  was  glad  to  send  the  old  woman  with 

them,  for  as  we  turned  away  to  our  own 

carriage,  I  said  in  my  mind,  "  All  that  little 

lady  needs  is  enough  contrition,  and  she'll 

167 


Strong  Hearts 

give  away  the  total  of  any  secret  of  which 
she  owns  an  undivided  half." 

But  a  night  and  a  day  passed,  and  a  sec 
ond,  and  a  third,  and  I  perceived  she  had 
told  nothing. 

It  was  a  terrible  time,  with  many  occa 
sions  of  suspense  more  harrowing  than  that. 
Our  other  children  were  getting  on,  yet  still 
needed  vigilant  care;  the  Baron  was  to  be 
let  out  of  his  room  in  a  day  or  two,  but  my 
fat  neighbor  had  come  down  with  the  dis 
ease,  while  his  wife  still  lay  between  life  and 
death — how  they  finally  got  well,  I  have 
never  quite  made  out,  they  were  so  badly 
nursed — and  all  about  us  were  new  cases, 
and  cases  beyond  hope,  and  retarded  recov 
eries,  and  relapses,  and  funerals,  and  nurses 
too  few,  and  ice  scarce,  and  everybody  worn 
out  with  watching — physicians  compelled 
to  limit  themselves  to  just  so  many  cases  at 
a  time,  to  avoid  utterly  breaking  down. 

As  I  was  in  my  fat  neighbor's  sick  cham 
ber  one  evening,  giving  his  nurse  a  respite, 
word  came  that  Fontenette  was  at  my  gate. 
I  went  to  him  with  misgivings  that  only  in 
creased  as  we  greeted.  He  was  dejected 
168 


The  Entomologist 

and  agitated.     His  grasp  was  damp  and 
cold. 

"  It  cou'n'  stay  from  me  always,"  he  said 
in  an  anguished  voice,  and  I  cried  in  my 
soul,  "She's  told  him!" 

But  she  had  not.  I  asked  him  what  his 
bad  news  was  that  had  come  at  last,  but  his 
only  reply  was, 

"  Can  you  take  him?  Can  you  take  him 
out  of  my  house — to-night — this  evening — 
now?" 

"Who,  the  Baron?  Why,  certainly,  if 
you  desire  it?"  I  responded;  wondering  if 
the  entomologist,  by  some  slip,  had  betrayed 
her.  There  was  an  awe  in  my  visitor's  eyes 
that  was  almost  fright. 

"  Fontenette,"  I  exclaimed,  "  what  have 
you  heard — what  have  you  done?  " 

"  My  frien',  'tis  not  what  I  'ave  heard, 
neitheh  what  I  'ave  done;  'tis  what  I  'ave 
got." 

"  Got?  Why,  you've  got  nothing,  you 
Creole  of  the  Creoles.  Your  skin's  as  cool 
as  mine." 

"  Feel  my  pulse,"  he  said.     I  felt  it.     It 
wasn't  less  than  a  hundred  and  fifty. 
169 


Strong  Hearts 

"  Go,  get  into  bed  while  I  bring  the 
Baron  over  here,"  I  said,  and  by  the  time  I 
had  done  this  and  got  back  to  him  his  skin 
was  hot  enough!  An  hour  or  two  after,  I 
recrossed  the  street  on  the  way  to  my  night's 
rest,  leaving  his  wife  to  nurse  him,  and 
Senda  to  attend  on  her  and  keep  house.  I 
paused  in  the  garden  and  gazed  up  among 
the  benignant  stars.  And  then  I  looked 
onward,  through  and  beyond  their  ranks, 
seemingly  so  confused,  yet  where  such 
amazing  hidden  order  is,  and  said,  for  our 
good  Fontenette,  and  for  his  watching  wife, 
and  for  all  of  us — even  for  my  wife  and  me 
in  our  unutterable  loss — "  Sank  Kott!  sank 
Kott!  it  iss  only  se  yellow  fevah!  " 


XVI 

THREE  days  more.  In  the  third  evening 
I  found  the  doctor  saying  to  Mrs.  Fonte 
nette:  "Nine  o'clock.  It's  now  seven- 
thirty.  Well,  you'd  better  begin  pretty  soon 
to  watch  for  the  change. 

"  O,  you'll  know  it  when  you  see  it,  it  will 
170 


The  Entomologist 

be  as  plain  as  something  sinking  in  water 
right  before  your  eyes.  Then  give  him  the 
beef-tea,  just  a  teaspoonful ;  then,  by  and  by, 
another,  and  another,  as  I  told  you,  always 
keeping  his  head  on  the  pillow — mind  that." 

Out  beside  his  carriage  he  continued  to 
me:  "  O  yes,  a  nurse  or  patient  may  break 
that  rule,  or  almost  any  rule,  and  the  patient 
may  live.  I  had  a  patient,  left  alone  for  a 
moment  on  the  climacteric  day,  who  was 
found  standing  at  her  mirror  combing  her 
hair,  and  to-day  she's  as  well  as  you  or  I. 
I  had  another  who  got  out  of  bed,  walked 
down  a  corridor,  fell  face  downward  and  lay 
insensible  at  the  crack  of  a  doorsill  with 
the  rain  blowing  in  on  him  under  the  door 
— and  he  got  well.  As  to  Fontenette,  all  his 
symptoms  so  far  are  good.  Well — I'll  be 
back  in  the  morning." 

So  ran  the  time.  There  were  no  more 
new  cases  in  our  house;  Mrs.  Smith  and  I 
had  had  the  scourge  years  before,  as  also 
had  Senda,  who  remained  over  the  way. 
Fontenette  passed  from  one  typical  phase 
of  the  disorder  to  another  "  charmingly  " 
as  the  doctor  said,  yet  he  specially  needed 
171 


Strong  Hearts 

just  such  exceptionally  delicate  care  as  his 
wife  was  giving  him.  In  the  city  at  large 
the  deaths  per  day  were  more  and  more, 
and  one  night  when  it  showered  and  there 
was  a  heavenly  cooling  of  the  air,  the  in 
crease  in  the  mortality  was  horrible.  But 
the  weather,  as  a  rule,  was  steady  and 
tropically  splendid;  the  sun  blazed;  the 
moonlight  was  marvellous;  the  dews  were 
like  rains ;  the  gardens  were  gay  with  butter 
flies.  Our  convalescent  little  ones  hourly 
forgot  how  gravely  far  they  were  from  be 
ing  well,  and  it  became  one  of  our  heavy 
cares  to  keep  the  entomologist  from  ento- 
mologizing — and  from  overeating. 

From  time  to  time,  when  shorthanded  we 
had  used  skilled  nurses;  but  when  Mrs. 
Fontenette  grew  haggard  and  we  men 
tioned  them,  she  said  distressfully:  "O! 
no  hireling  hands !  I  can't  bear  the  thought 
of  it!  "  and  indeed  the  thought  of  the  aver 
age  hired  "  fever-nurse  "  of  those  days  was 
not  inspiring;  so  I  served  as  her  alternate 
when  she  would  accept  any  and  throw  her 
self  on  the  couch  Senda  had  spread  in  the 
little  parlor. 

172 


The  Entomologist 


XVII 

AT  length  one  day  I  was  called  up  at 
dawn  and  went  over  to  take  her  place  once 
more,  and  when  after  several  hours  had 
passed  I  was  still  with  him,  Fontenette  said, 
while  I  bent  down, 

"  I  have  the  fear  thad's  going  to  go  hahd 
with  my  wife,  being  of  the  Nawth." 

"  Why,  what's  going  to  go  hard,  old 
fellow?" 

"  The  feveh.  My  dear  frien',  don't  I  know 
tha'z  the  only  thing  would  keep  heh  f'om 
me  thad  long?  " 

"  Still,  you  don't  know  her  case  will  be  a 
hard  one;  it  may  be  very  light.  But  don't 
talk  now." 

"Well— I  hope  so.  Me,  I  wou'n'  take 
ten  thousand  dollahs  faw  thad  feveh  my 
self — to  see  that  devotion  of  my  wife.  You 
muz  'ave  observe',  eh?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  old  man ;  nobody  could 
help  observing.  I  wouldn't  talk  any  more 
just  now." 

"  No,"  he  insisted,  "  nobody  could  eveh 
J73 


Strong  Hearts 

doubt.  'Action  speak  loudeh  than  word/ 
eh?" 

"  Yes,  but  we  don't  want  either  from  you 
just  now."  I  put  his  restless  arms  back 
under  the  cover;  not  to  keep  the  outer  tem 
perature  absolutely  even  was  counted  a 
deadly  risk.  "  Besides,"  I  said,  "  you're 
talking  out  of  character,  old  boy." 

He  looked  at  me  mildly,  steadily,  for  sev 
eral  moments,  as  if  something  about  me 
gave  him  infinite  comfort.  It  was  a  man's 
declaration  of  love  to  a  man,  and  as  he  read 
the  same  in  my  eyes,  he  closed  his  own  and 
drowsed. 

Though  he  dozed  only  at  wide  intervals 
and  briefly,  he  asked  no  more  questions 
until  night;  then — "  Who's  with  my  wife?  " 

"  Mine." 

He  closed  his  eyes  again,  peacefully.  It 
was  in  keeping  with  his  perfect  courtesy 
not  to  ask  how  the  new  patient  was.  If  she 
was  doing  well, — well ;  and  if  not,  he  would 
spare  us  the  pain  of  informing  or  deceiving 
him. 

Senda  became  a  kind  of  chief-of-staff  for 
both  sides  of  the  street.  She  would  have 


The  Entomologist 

begged  to  be  Mrs.  Fontenette's  nurse,  but 
for  one  other  responsibility,  which  we  felt 
it  would  be  unsafe,  and  she  thought  it  would 
be  unfair,  for  her  to  put  thus  beyond  her 
own  reach:  "  se  care  of  mine  hussbandt." 

She  wore  a  plain  path  across  the  unpaved 
street  to  our  house,  and  another  to  our 
neighbor's.  "  Sat  iss  a  too  great  risk,"  she 
compassionately  maintained,  "  to  leaf  even 
in  se  daytime  sose  shiltren — so  late  sick — 
alone  viss  only  mine  hussbandt  and  se  sair- 
vants !  " 

The  doctor  was  concerned  for  Mrs.  Fon- 
tenette  from  the  beginning.  "  Terribly  ner 
vous,"  he  said,  "  and  full  from  her  feet  to 
her  eyes,  of  a  terror  of  death — merely  a  part 
of  the  disease,  you  know."  But  in  this  case 
I  did  not  know. 

"Pathetic,"  he  called  the  fevered  satis 
faction  she  took  in  the  hovering  attentions 
of  our  old  black  nurse,  who  gave  us  brief 
respites  in  the  two  sick-rooms  by  turns,  and 
who  had  according  to  Mrs.  Fontenette, 
"such  a  beautiful  faith!"  The  doctor 
thought  it  mostly  words,  among  which 
"  de  Lawd  willin' "  so  constantly  recurred 
175 


Strong  Hearts 

that  out  of  the  sick-room  he  always  alluded 
to  her  as  D.  V.,  though  never  without  a 
certain  sincere  regard.  This  kind  old  soul 
had  nursed  much  yellow  fever  in  her  time, 
and  it  did  not  occur  to  us  that  maybe  her 
time  was  past. 

When  Mrs.  Fontenette  had  been  ill  some 
thing  over  a  week,  the  doctor  one  evening 
made  us  glad  by  saying  as  he  came  through 
the  little  dining-room  and  jerked  a  thumb 
back  toward  Fontenette's  door,  "  Just  keep 
him  as  he  is  for  one  more  night  and,  I 
promise  you,  he'll  get  well ;  but !  " —  He 
sat  down  on  the  couch — Senda's — in  the 
parlor,  and  pointed  at  the  door  to  Mrs.  Fon 
tenette's  room — "  You've  got  to  be  careful 
haw  you  let  even  that  be  known — in  there! 
She  can  get  well  too — if — "  And  he  went 
on  to  tell  how  in  this  ailment  all  the  tissues 
of  the  body  sink  into  such  frail  deteriora 
tion,  that  so  slight  a  thing  as  the  undue 
thrill  of  an  emotion,  may  rend  some  inner 
part  of  the  soul's  house  and  make  it  hope 
lessly  untenable. 

"  Iss  sat  not  se  condition  vhat  make  it 
so  easy  to  relapse?  "  asked  Senda. 
176 


The  Entomologist 

He  said  it  was,  I  think,  and  went  his  way, 
little  knowing  to  what  a  night  he  was  leav 
ing  us — except  for  its  celestial  beauty,  upon 
which  he  expatiated  as  I  stepped  with  him 
to  the  gate. 


XVIII 

HE  had  not  been  gone  long  enough  for 
me  to  get  back  into  the  house — Fonte- 
nette's — when  I  espied  coming  to  me,  in 
piteous  haste  from  her  home  around  the 
corner,  the  young  daughter  of  another 
neighbor.  Her  hair  was  about  her  eyes  and 
as  she  saw  the  physician  had  gone,  she 
wrung  her  hands  and  burst  into  violent 
weeping.  I  ran  to  her  outside  the  gate, 
pointing  backward  at  Mrs.  Fontenette's 
room,  with  entreating  signs  for  quiet  as  she 
called — "  Oh,  where  is  he  gone?  Which 
way  did  he  go?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you,  my  dear  girl ! "  I  mur 
mured.  "  I  don't  know !  What  is  the 
trouble?  " 

"  My  father !  "  she  hoarsely  whispered. 
177 


Strong  Hearts 

"  My  father's  dying!  dying  in  a  raging  de 
lirium,  and  we  can't  hold  him  in  bed!  O, 
come  and  help  us !  "  She  threw  her  hands 
above  her  head  in  wild  despair,  and  gnawed 
her  ringers  and  lips  and  shook  and  writhed 
as  she  gulped  down  her  sobs,  and  laid 
hold  of  me  and  begged  as  though  I  had 
refused. 

I  found  her  words  true.  It  took  four 
men  to  keep  him  down.  I  did  not  have  to 
stay  to  the  end,  and  when  I  reached  Fon- 
tenette's  side  again,  was  glad  to  find  I  had 
been  away  but  little  over  an  hour. 

I  sent  the  old  black  woman  home  and  to 
bed,  and  may  have  sat  an  hour  more,  when 
she  came  back  to  tell  us,  that  one  of  the 
children  was  very  wakeful  and  feverish. 
Senda  went  to  see  into  the  matter  for  us, 
and  the  old  woman  took  her  place  in  the 
little  parlor.  Mrs.  Smith  was  with  Mrs. 
Fontenette. 

Fontenette  slept.  Loath  to  see  him  open 
his  eyes,  I  kept  very  still,  while  nearly  an 
other  hour  dragged  by,  listening  hard  for 
Senda's  return,  but  hearing  only,  once  or 
twice,  through  the  narrow  stairway  and 


The  Entomologist 

closets  between  the  two  bedrooms,  a  faint 
stir  that  showed  Mrs.  Fontenette  was  awake 
and  being  waited  on. 

I  was  grateful  for  the  rarity  of  outdoor 
sounds;  a  few  tree-frogs  piped,  two  or  three 
solitary  wayfarers  passed  in  the  street;  twice 
or  more  the  sergeant  of  the  night-watch 
trilled  his  whistle  in  a  street  or  two  behind 
us,  and  twice  or  more  in  front;  and  once, 
and  once  again,  came  the  distant  bellow  of 
steamboats  passing  each  other — not  the 
famous  boats  whose  whistle  you  would 
know  one  from  another,  for  they  were  laid 
up.  I  doubt  if  I  have  forgotten  any  sound 
that  I  noticed  that  night.  I  remember  the 
drowsy  rumble  of  the  midnight  horse-car 
and  tinkle  of  its  mule's  bell,  first  in  Prytania 
street  and  then  in  Magazine.  It  was  just 
after  these  that  at  last  a  black  hand  beck 
oned  me  to  the  door,  and  under  her  breath 
the  old  nurse  told  me  she  was  just  back 
from  our  house,  where  her  mistress  had  sent 
her,  and  that—"  De-eh— de-eh  "— 

"  The  Baroness?  " 

"  Yass,  sih,  de — de  outlayndish  la-ady — " 

Senda  had  sent  word  that  the  child  had 
179 


Strong  Hearts 

only  an  indigestion — a  thing  serious  enough 
in  such  a  case — and  though  still  slightly 
feverish  was  now  asleep,  but  restless. 

"  Sih  ?  Yass,  sir — awnressless — dass  'zac'- 
ly  what  I  say!" 

Wherefore  Senda  would  either  remain  in 
the  nursery  or  return  to  us,  as  we  should 
elect. 

"  O  no,  sih,  she  no  need  to  come  back 
right  now,  anyhow;  yass,  sih,  dass  what  de 
Mis'  say,  too." 

"  Then  you'll  stay  here,"  I  whispered. 

"  Yass,  sih,  ef  de  Lawd  wil' — I  mean  ef 
you  wants  me,  sih — yass,  sih,  thaynk  you, 
sih.  I  loves  to  tend  on  Mis'  Fontenette,  she 
got  sich  a  bu'ful  fa-aith,  same  like  she  say 
I  got.  Yass,  sih,  I  dess  loves  to  set  an* 
watch  her — wid  dat  sweet  samtimonious 
fa-ace." 

Fontenette  being  still  asleep  I  gave  her 
my  place  for  a  moment,  and  went  to  the 
door  between  the  parlor  and  his  wife's 
room.  Mrs.  Smith  came  to  it,  barely  breath 
ing  the  triumphant  word — "Just  dropped 
asleep!" 

When  I  replied  that  I  would  take  a  little 
180 


The  Entomologist 

fresh  air  at  the  front  door  she  asked  if  at 
my  leisure  I  would  empty  and  bring  in  from 
the  window-sill,  around  on  the  garden  side 
of  her  patient's  room  a  saucer  containing 
the  over-sweetened  remains  of  some  orange- 
leaf  tea,  that  "  D.  V."  had  made  "  for  to 
wrench  out  de  nerves."  She  wanted  the 
saucer. 

I  went  outside  a  step  or  two  and  took  in 
a  long  draught  of  good  air — the  air  of  a 
yellow-fever  room  is  dreadful.  It  was  my 
first  breath  of  mental  relief  also;  almost  the 
first  that  night,  and  the  last. 

I  paced  once  or  twice  the  short  narrow 
walk  between  the  front  flower-beds,  sur 
prised  at  their  well-kept  and  blooming  con 
dition  until  I  remembered  Senda.  The 
moths  were  out  in  strong  numbers,  and  it 
was  delightful  to  forget  graver  things  for  a 
moment  and  see  the  flowers  bend  coyly  un 
der  their  passionate  kisses  and  blushingly 
rise  again  when  the  sweet  robbery  was  fin 
ished.  So  it  happened  that  I  came  where  a 
glance  across  to  my  own  garden  showed 
me,  on  the  side  farthest  from  the  nursery, 
a  favorite  bush,  made  pale  by  a  light  that 
181 


Strong  Hearts 

could  come  only  from  the  entomologist's 
window !  I  went  in  promptly,  told  what  I 
proposed  to  do,  and  hurried  out  again. 


XIX 

I  CROSSED  into  my  garden  and  silently 
mounted  the  balcony  stairs  I  have  men 
tioned  once  before.  His  balcony  door  was 
ajar.  His  room  was  empty.  He  had  occu 
pied  the  bed.  A  happy  thought  struck  me 
— to  feel  the  spot  where  he  had  lain;  it  was 
still  warm.  Good!  But  his  clothes  were 
all  gone  except  his  shoes,  and  they,  you  re 
member,  were  no  proof  that  he  was  indoors. 

I  stole  down  into  the  garden  once  more, 
and  looked  hurriedly  in  several  directions, 
but  saw  no  sign  of  him.  I  am  not  a  fero 
cious  man  even  when  alone,  but  as  I  came 
near  the  fence  of  our  fat  neighbor — once 
fat,  poor  fellow,  and  destined  to  be  so  again 
in  time — and  still  saw  no  one,  I  was  made 
conscious  of  waving  my  fist  and  muttering 
through  my  gritting  teeth,  by  hearing  my 
name  softly  called.  It  was  an  unfamiliar 
182 


The  Entomologist 

female  voice  that  spoke,  from  a  window  be 
yond  the  fence,  and  it  flashed  on  my  re 
membrance  that  two  kinswomen  of  my 
neighbor  were  watching  with  his  wife, 
whose  case  was  giving  new  cause  for  anx 
iety.  It  was  Mrs.  Soandso,  the  voice  ex 
plained,  and  could  I  possibly  come  in  there 
a  moment? — if  only  to  the  window! 

"  Is  our  friend  the  Baron  over  here  ?  "  I 
asked,  as  I  came  to  it.  He  was  not.  "  Well, 
never  mind,"  I  said;  "  how  is  your  patient?  " 

"  Oh  that's  just  what  we  wish  we  knew. 
In  some  ways  she  seems  better,  but  she's 
more  unquiet.  She's  had  some  slight  nausea 
and  it  seems  to  increase.  Do  you  think 
that  is  important?" 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  very.  I  hear  some  one 
cracking  ice;  you  are  keeping  ice  on  her 
throat — no?  Well,  begin  it  at  once,  and 
persuade  her  to  lie  on  her  back  as  quietly 
as  she  can,  and  get  her  to  sleep  if  possible! 
Doctor — no;  he  wouldn't  come  before 
morning,  anyhow;  but  I'll  send  Mrs.  Smith 
right  over  to  you,  if  she  possibly  can  come." 

I  turned  hurriedly  away  and  had  taken 
only  a  few  steps,  when  I  lit  upon  the  ento- 


Strong  Hearts 

mologist.  "  Well,  I'll  just — what  are  you 
doing  here?  Where  were  you  when  I  was 
in  your  room  just  now?  "  His  shoes  were 
on. 

"  Vhat  you  vanted  mit  me  ?  I  vas  by  dot 
librair'  going.  For  vhat  you  moof  dot 
putterfly-net  fon  t'e  mandtelpiece?  You 
make  me  too  much  troubple  to  find  dot 
vhen  I  vas  in  a  hurry!  "  He  shook  it  at  me. 

"Hurry!"  In  my  anger  and  distress  I 
laughed.  "  My  friend  " — laying  a  hand  on 
him — "  you'll  hurry  across  the  street  with 
me." 

He  waved  me  off.  "Yes;  go  on,  you; 
I  coom  py  undt  py;  I  dtink  t'ere  iss  vun 
maud  come  into  dot  gardten,  vhat  I  haf  not 
pefore  seen  since  more  as  acht  years,  al- 
readty!" 

"  Yes,"  I  retorted,  "  and  so  you're  here 
at  the  gate  alone.  Now  come  right  along 
with  me!  Aren't  there  enough  lives  in  dan 
ger  to-night,  but  you  must " — He  stopped 
me  in  the  middle  of  the  street. 

"  Mine  Gott!  vhat  iss  dot  you  say?  Who 
— who — mine  Gott!  who  iss  her  life  in  dtan- 
ger?  Iss  dot — mine  Gott!  is  dot  he-ere?" 
184 


The  Entomologist 

He  pointed  to  Mrs.  Fontenette's  front  win 
dow. 

I  could  hardly  keep  my  fist  off  him. 
"  Hush !  you —  For  one  place  it's  here."  I 
pushed  him  with  my  finger. 

"Ach!"  he  exclaimed  in  infinite  relief. 
"  I  dt'ought  you  mean — I — I  dt'ought — 
hmm  ! — hmm !  lam  dtired."  He  leaned  on 
me  like  a  sick  child  and  we  went  into  the 
cottage  parlor.  The  moment  he  saw  the 
lounge  he  lay  down  upon  it,  or  I  should 
have  taken  him  back  into  the  dining-room. 

"  Sha'n't  I  put  that  net  away  for  you  ?  " 
I  murmured,  as  I  dropped  a  light  covering 
over  him. 

But  he  only  hugged  the  toy  closer. 
"  No;  I  geep  it — hmm! — hmm! — I  am 
dtired " 


Strong  Hearts 


XX 

BOTH  patients,  I  found,  were  drowsing; 
the  husband  peacefully,  the  wife  with 
troubled  dreams.  When  the  Baron  spoke 
her  eyes  opened  with  a  look,  first  eager  and 
then  distressful,  but  closed  again.  We  put 
the  old  black  woman  temporarily  into  her 
room  and  Mrs.  Smith  hurried  to  our  other 
neighbors,  whence  she  was  to  despatch  one 
of  their  servants  to  bid  Senda  come  to  us  at 
once.  But  "  No  battle  " — have  I  already 
used  the  proverb?  She  gave  the  message 
to  the  servant,  but  it  never  reached  Senda. 
Somebody  forgot.  As  I  sat  by  Fontenette 
with  ears  alert  for  Senda's  coming  and  was 
wondering  at  the  unbroken  silence,  he 
opened  his  eyes  on  me  and  smiled. 

"Ah!"  he  softly  said,  "  thad  was  a 
pleasan'  dream! " 

"  A  pleasant  dream,  was  it?  " 

"  Yes;  I  was  having  the  dream  thad  my 
wife  she  was  showing  me  those  rose-bushes; 
an*  every  rose-bush  it  had  roses,  an'  every 
rose  it  was  perfect." 

186 


The  Entomologist 

I  leaned  close  and  said  that  he  had  been 
mighty  good  not  to  ask  about  her  all  these 
many  days,  and  that  if  he  would  engage  to 
do  as  well  for  as  long  a  time  again,  and  to 
try  now  to  have  another  good  dream  I 
would  tell  him  that  she  was  sleeping  and 
was  without  any  alarming  symptoms.  O 
lucky  speech!  It  was  true  when  it  was 
uttered;  but  how  soon  the  hour  belied  it! 

As  he  obediently  closed  his  eyes,  his  hand 
stole  out  from  the  side  of  the  covers  and 
felt  for  mine.  I  gave  it  and  as  he  kept  it 
his  thought  seemed  to  me  to  flow  into  my 
brain.  I  could  feel  him,  as  it  were,  think 
ing  of  his  wife,  loving  her  through  all  the 
deeps  of  his  still  nature  with  seven — yes, 
seventy — times  the  passion  that  I  fancied 
would  ever  be  possible  to  that  young  girl 
I  had  seen  a  few  hours  earlier  showing  her 
heart  to  the  world,  with  falling  hair  and 
rending  sobs.  As  he  lay  thus  trying  to 
court  back  his  dream  of  perfect  roses,  I  had 
my  delight  in  knowing  he  would  never 
dream — what  Senda  saw  so  plainly,  yet  with 
such  faultless  modesty — that  all  true  love 
draws  its  strength  and  fragrance  from  the 


Strong  Hearts 

riches  not  of  the  loved  one's,  but  of  the 
lover's  soul. 

His  grasp  had  begun  to  loosen,  when  I 
thought  I  heard  from  the  wife's  room  a 
sudden  sound  that  made  my  mind  flash 
back  to  the  saucer  I  had  failed  to  bring  in. 
It  was  as  though  the  old-fashioned,  un 
weighted  window-sash,  having  been  slight 
ly  lifted,  had  slipped  from  the  ringers  and 
fallen  shut.  I  hearkened,  and  the  next  in 
stant  there  came  softly  searching  through 
doors,  through  walls,  through  my  own  flesh 
and  blood,  a  long  half-wailing  sigh.  Fon- 
tenette  tightened  on  my  hand,  then  dropped 
it,  and  opening  his  eyes  sharply,  asked, 
"  What  was  that?  " 

"What  was  what,  old  fellow?"  I  pre 
tended  to  have  been  more  than  half  asleep 
myself. 

"  Did  I  only  dream  I  'card  it,  thad 
noise?" 

"That  isn't  a  hard  thing  to  do  in  your 
condition,"  I  replied,  with  my  serenest 
smile,  and  again  he  closed  his  eyes.  Yet  for 
two  or  three  minutes  it  was  plain  he  lis 
tened;  but  soon  he  forbore  and  began  once 
1 88 


The  Entomologist 

more  to  slumber.  Then  very  soon  I  faintly 
detected  a  stir  in  the  parlor,  and  stealing 
to  the  door  to  listen  through  the  dining- 
room,  came  abruptly  upon  the  old  black 
woman.  Disaster  was  written  on  her  face 
and  when  she  spoke  tears  came  into  her 
eyes. 

"  De  madam  want  you,"  she  said,  and 
passed  in  to  take  my  place. 

As  I  went  on  to  the  parlor,  Mrs.  Smith, 
just  inside  Mrs.  Fontenette's  door,  beck 
oned  me.  As  I  drew  near  I  made  an  in 
quiring  motion  in  the  direction  of  our 
neighbor  across  the  way. 

"  I'm  hopeful,"  was  her  whispered  reply; 
"  but — in  here  " — she  shook  her  head.  Just 
then  the  new  maid  came  from  our  house, 
and  Mrs.  Smith  whispered  again — "  Go 
over  quickly  to  the  Baron;  he's  in  his  room. 
'Twas  he  came  for  me.  He'll  tell  you  all. 
But  he'll  not  tell  his  wife,  and  she  mustn't 
know." 

As  I  ran  across  the  street  I  divined  al 
most  in  full  what  had  taken  place. 

I  had  noticed  the  possibility  of  some  of 
the  facts  when  I  had  left  the  Baron  asleep 
189 


Strong  Hearts 

on  the  parlor  lounge,  but  they  could  have 
done  no  harm,  even  when  Senda  did  not 
come,  had  it  not  been  for  two  other  facts 
which  I  had  failed  to  foresee ;  one,  that  we 
had  unwittingly  overtasked  our  willing  old 
nurse,  and  in  her  chair  in  Mrs.  Fontenette's 
room  she  was  going  to  fall  asleep;  and  the 
other  that  the  entomologist  would  waken. 


XXI 

AND  now  see  what  a  cunning  trap  the 
most  innocent  intentions  may  sometimes 
set.  There  was  a  mirror  in  the  sick-room 
purposely  so  placed  that,  with  the  parlor 
door  ajar,  the  watcher,  but  not  the  patient, 
could  see  into  the  parlor,  and  could  be  seen 
from  the  parlor  when  sitting  anywhere  be 
tween  the  mirror  and  the  window  beyond 
it.  This  window  was  the  one  that  looked 
into  the  side  garden.  Purposely,  too,  the 
lounge  had  been  placed  so  as  to  give  and 
receive  these  advantages.  A  candle  stood 
on  the  window's  inner  ledge  and  was 
screened  from  the  unseen  bed,  but  shone 
190 


The  Entomologist 

outward  through  the  window  and  inward 
upon  the  mirror.  The  front  door  of  the 
parlor  opened  readily  to  anyone  within  or 
without  who  knew  enough  to  use  its  two 
latches  at  once,  but  neither  within  nor  with 
out  to — the  Baron,  say — who  did  not  know. 

Do  you  see  it?  As  he  lay  awake  on  the 
lounge  his  eye  was,  of  course,  drawn  con 
stantly  to  the  mirror  by  the  reflected  light 
of  the  candle,  and  to  its  images  of  the  nod 
ding  watcher  and  of  the  window  just  be 
yond.  So  lying  and  gazing,  he  had  sud 
denly  beheld  that  which  brought  him  from 
the  lounge  in  an  instant,  net  in  hand,  and 
tortured  to  find  the  front  door — by  which 
he  would  have  slipped  out  and  around  to 
the  window — fastened!  What  he  saw  was 
the  moth — the  moth  so  many  years  unseen. 
Now  it  sipped  at  the  saucer  of  sweet  stuff, 
now  hovered  over  it,  now  was  lost  in  the 
dark,  and  now  fluttered  up  or  slid  down 
the  pane,  lured  by  the  beam  of  the  candle. 

If  he  was  not  to  lose  it,  there  was  but 
one  thing  to  do.  With  his  eyes  fixed,  moth- 
mad,  on  the  window,  he  glided  in,  passed 
the  two  sleepers,  and  stealthily  lifted  the 
191 


Strong  Hearts 

sash  with  one  hand,  the  other  poising  the 
net.  The  moth  dropped  under,  the  net 
swept  after  it,  and  the  sash  slipped  and  fell. 
Mrs.  Fontenette  rose  wildly,  and  when  she 
saw  first  the  old  woman,  half  starting  from 
her  seat  with  frightened  stare,  and  then  the 
entomologist  speechless,  motionless,  and 
looming  like  an  apparition,  she  gave  that 
cry  her  husband  heard,  and  fell  back  upon 
the  pillow  in  a  convulsion. 

I  found  the  Baron  sitting  on  the  side  of 
his  bed  like  a  child  trying  to  be  awake  with 
out  waking.  No,  not  trying  to  do  or  be 
anything;  but  aimless,  dazed,  silent,  lost. 

He  obeyed,  automatically,  my  every  re 
quest.  I  set  about  getting  him  to  bed  at 
once,  putting  his  clothes  beyond  his  reach, 
and  even  locking  his  balcony  door,  with 
out  a  sign  of  objection  from  him.  Then 
I  left  him  for  a  moment,  and  calling  Senda 
from  the  nursery  to  the  parlor  told  her  the 
state  of  the  different  patients,  including  her 
husband,  but  without  the  hows  and  whys 
except  that  I  had  found  him  in  our  garden 
with  his  precious  net.  "  And  now,  as  it  will 
soon  be  day,  Mrs.  Smith  and  I — with  the 
192 


The  Entomologist 

servants  and  others — can  take  care  of  the 
four." 

"  If  I  " — meekly  interrupted  the  sweet 
woman — "  vill  go  for  se  doctors?  I  vill 
go."  Soon  she  was  off. 

Then  I  went  back  to  her  husband,  and 
finding  his  mood  so  changed  that  he  was 
eager  to  explain  everything,  I  let  him  talk; 
which  I  soon  saw  was  a  blunder;  for  he 
got  pitifully  excited,  and  wanted  to  go  over 
the  same  ground  again  and  again.  One 
matter  I  was  resolved  to  fix  in  his  mind 
without  delay.  "  Mark  you,"  I  charged 
him,  "  your  wife  must  never  know  a  word 
of  this!" 

"Eh?— No"— and  the  next  instant  the 
sick  woman  across  the  way  was  filling  all 
his  thought:  "Mine  Gott!  she  rice  oop 
scaredt  in  t'e  bedt,  choost  so! "  and  up  he 
would  start.  Then  as  I  pressed  him  down 
— "  Mine  Gott !  I  vould  not  go  in,  if  I  dhink 
she  would  do  dot.  Hmm!  Hmm!  I  am 
sorry! — Undt  I  tidt  not  t'e  mawdt  get. 

"Hmm!  Even  I  titn't  saw  vhere  it  iss 
gone.  Hmm!  Hmm!  I  am  sorry! 

"Undt  dot  door  kit  shtuck!  Hmm! 
193 


Strong  Hearts 

Undt  dot  vindow  iss  not  right  made. 
Hmm! 

"  I  tidn't  vant  to  do  dot — you  know? 
Hmm!  I  am  sorry!— Ach,  mine  Gott!  she 
rice  oop  scaredt  in  t'e  bedt,  choost  so!" 
Thus  round  and  round.  What  to  do  for 
him  I  did  not  know! 

Yet  he  grew  quiet,  and  was  as  good  as 
filent,  when  Senda,  long  before  I  began  to 
look  for  her,  stood  unbonneted  at  my  side 
in  a  soft  glow  of  physical  animation,  her 
anxiety  all  hidden  and  with  a  pink  spot  on 
each  cheek.  I  was  startled.  Had  7  slept 
— or  had  she  somehow  ridden? 

"Are  the  street-cars  running  already?" 
I  asked. 

"  No,"  she  murmured,  producing  a  vial 
and  looking  for  a  glass.  "  Tis  I  haf  been 
runninr  alreadty.  Sat  iss  not  so  tiresome 
as  to  valk.  Also  it  is  safeh.  I  runned  all 
se  vay.  Vill  you  sose  drops  drop  faw  me?  " 
Her  hand  trembled. 

I  took  the  vial  but  did  not  meet  her 

glance:  for  I  was  wondering  if  there  was 

anything  in  the  world  she  could  ask  of  me 

that  I  would  not  do,  and  at  such  a  time  it  is 

194 


The  Entomologist 

good  for  anyone  as  weak  as  I  am  to  look 

at  inanimate  things. 

"  You  got  word  to  all  three  doctors?  " 
"Yes;"    she  gave  her  chin  the  drollest 

little  twist — "  sey  are  all  coming — vhen  sey 

get  ready." 


XXII 

THAT  is  what  they  did;  but  the  first  who 
came,  and  the  second,  brought  fresh  cour 
age  ;  for  the  Baron — "  would  most  likely  be 
all  right  again,  before  the  day  was  over  "  ; 
our  child  was  "  virtually  well "  ;  and  from 
next  door — "better!"  was  the  rapturous 
news.  The  third  physician,  too,  was  pleased 
with  Fontenette's  case,  and  we  began  at 
once  to  send  the  night-watchers  to  their  rest 
by  turns. 

But  there  the  gladness  ended.  At  Mrs. 
Fontenette's  bedside  he  asked  no  questions. 
In  the  parlor  he  said  to  us: 

"Well,  .  .  .  you've  done  your  best; 
.  .  .  I've  done  mine;  .  .  .  and  it's 
of  no  use." 


Strong  Hearts 

"  Oh,  Doctor!  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Smith. 

"  Why,  didn't  you  know  it?  "  He  jerked 
his  thumb  toward  the  sick-room.  "  She 
knows  it.  She  told  me  she  knew  it,  with 
her  first  glance." 

He  pondered.  "  I  wish  she  were  not  so 
near  him.  If  she  were  only  in  here — you 
see?" 

Yes,  we  saw;  the  two  patients  would  then 
be,  on  their  either  hand,  one  whole  room 
apart,  as  if  in  two  squares  of  a  checker 
board  that  touch  only  at  one  corner. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  we  must  move  her  at 
once.  I'll  show  you  how;  I'll  stay  and  help 
you." 

It  seemed  more  as  though  we  helped  him 
— a  very  little — as  we  first  moved  her  and 
then  took  the  light  bedstead  apart,  set  it  up 
again  in  the  parlor,  and  laid  her  in  it,  all 
without  a  noticeable  sound,  and  with  only 
great  comfort  of  mind  to  her — for  she  knew 
why  we  did  it.  Then  I  made  all  haste  to 
my  own  house  again  and  had  the  relief  to 
see,  as  Senda  came  toward  me  from  her 
husband's  room,  that  he  had  told  her  noth 
ing.  "  Veil?  "  she  eagerly  asked. 
196 


The  Entomologist 

"  Well,  Monsieur  Fontenette  is  greatly 
improved! " 

"  O  sat  iss  goodt!  And  se  Madame;  she, 
too,  is  betteh?— a  little?— eh— no-o?  " 

I  said  that  what  the  doctor  had  feared, 
a  "  lesion,"  had  taken  place,  and  that  there 
was  no  longer  any  hope  of  her  life.  At 
which  she  lighted  up  with  a  lovely  defiance. 

"  Ho-o!  no  long-eh  any  hope!  Yes,  sare 
iss  long-er  any  hope!  Vhere  iss  sat  doc- 
toh?  Sare  shall  be  hope!  Kif  me  sat  pa 
tient!  I  can  keep  se  vatch  of  mine  huss- 
bandt  at  se  same  time.  He  hass  not  a 
relapse!  Kif  me  se  patient!  Many  ossehs 
befo'e  I  haf  savedt  vhen  hadt  sose  doctohs 
no  long-eh  any  hope!  Mine  Gott!  vas  sare 
so  much  hope  vhen  she  and  her  hussbandt 
mine  sick  hussbandt  and  me  out  of  se 
street  took  in?  Vill  you  let  stay  by  mine 
hussbandt,  anyhow  a  short  vhile,  one  of  yo' 
so  goodt  sairvants? "  The  instant  I  as 
sented  she  flew  down  the  veranda  steps, 
through  the  garden,  and  out  across  the 
street. 

I  lingered  a  few  moments  with  the  ento 
mologist  before  leaving  him  with  others. 
197 


Strong  Hearts 

He  asked  me  only  one  question:  "Hmm! 
Hmm!  How  she  iss?" 

"Why,"  said  I,  brightly,  "I  think  she 
feels  rather  more  comfortable  than  she 
did." 

"Hmm! — Hmm! — I  am  sorry — Hmm! 
— Ach!  mine  Gott,  I  am  so  hoongary! — 
Hmm !  I  am  so  dtired  mit  dot  sou-oup  undt 
dose  creckers! — Hmm!  I  vish  I  haf  vonce 
a  whole  pifshtea-ak  undt  a  glahss  beer — 
hmm!" 

"Hmm!"  I  echoed,  "your  subsequent 
marketing  wouldn't  cost  much."  I  went 
down  town  on  some  imperative  office  busi 
ness,  came  back  in  a  cab,  gave  word  to  be 
called  at  such  an  hour,  and  lay  down.  But 
while  I  slept  my  order  was  countermanded 
and  when  I  awakened  it  was  once  more 
midnight.  I  went  to  my  open  window  and 
heard,  through  his  balcony  door — locked, 
now,  and  its  key  in  my  pocket— the  Baron, 
snoring.  Then  I  sprang  into  my  clothes 
and  sped  across  the  street. 

I  went  first  around  to  the  outer  door  of 
the  dining-room,  and  was  briefly  told  the 
best  I  could  have  hoped,  of  Fontenette.  I 
198 


The  Entomologist 

returned  to  the  front  and  stepped  softly 
into  what  had  been  Mrs.  Fontenette's  room. 
Finding  no  one  in  it  I  waited,  and  when  I 
presently  heard  voices  in  the  other  room, 
I  touched  its  door-knob.  Mrs.  Smith  came 
out,  closed  the  door  carefully,  and  sank  into 
a  seat. 

"  It's  been  a  noble  fight !  "  she  said,  smil 
ing  up  through  her  tears.  "  When  the  doc 
tor  came  back  and  saw  how  wonderfully 
the — the  worst — had  been  held  off,  he 
joined  in  the  battle !  He's  been  here  three 
times  since! " 

"  And  can  it  be  that  she  is  going  to  pull 
through?" 

My  wife's  face  went  down  into  her  hands. 
"  O,  no — no.  She's  dying  now — dying  in 
Senda's  arms! " 

Her  ear,  quicker  than  mine,  heard  some 
sign  within  and  she  left  me.  But  she  was 
back  almost  at  once,  whispering: 

"  She  knows  you're  here,  and  says  she 
has  a  message  to  her  husband  which,  she 
can  give  only  to  you." 

We  gazed  into  each  other's  eyes.  "  Go 
in,"  she  said. 

199 


Strong  Hearts 

As  I  entered,  Senda  tenderly  disengaged 
herself,  went  out,  and  closed  the  door. 

I  drew  near  in  silence  and  she  began  at 
once  to  speak,  bidding  me  take  the  chair 
Senda  had  left,  and  with  a  tender  smile 
thanking  me  for  coming. 

Then  she  said  faintly  and  slowly,  but  with 
an  unfaltering  voice,  "  I  want  you  to  know 
one  or  two  things  so  that  if  it  ever  should 
be  my  husband's  affliction  to  find  out  how 
foolish  and  undutiful  I  have  been,  you  can 
tell  them  to  him.  Tell  him  my  wrong 
doing  was,  from  first  to  last,  almost  totally 
—almost  totally " 

"  Do  you  mean — intangible?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  intangible.  Then  if  he  should 
say  that  the  intangible  part  is  the  priceless 
part — the  life,  the  beauty,  the  very  essence 
of  the  whole  matter — isn't  it  strange  that  we 
women  are  slower  than  men  to  see  that — 
tell  him  I  saw  it,  saw  it  and  confessed  it 
when  for  his  sake  I  was  slipping  away  from 
him  by  stealth  out  of  life  up  to  my  merciful 
Judge. 

"I  may  not  be  saying  these  things  in 
their  right  order,  but — tell  him  I  wish  he'd 
200 


The  Entomologist 

marry  again;  only  let  him  first  be  sure  the 
woman  loves  him  as  truly  and  deeply  as  he 
is  sure  to  love  her.  I  find  I've  never  truly 
loved  him  till  now.  If  he  doesn't  know  it 
don't  ever  tell  him;  but  tell  him  I  died  lov 
ing  him  and  blessing  him — for  the  un 
earned  glorious  love  he  gave  me  all  my  days. 
That's  all.  That's  all  to  him.  But  I  would 
like  to  send  one  word  to  " — she  lifted  her 
hand 

"  Across  the  street?  "  I  murmured. 

Her  eyes  said  yes.  "  Tell  him — you 
may  never  see  the  right  time  for  it,  but 
if  you  do — tell  him  I  craved  his  forgive 
ness." 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Yes — yes,  tell  him  so ;  it  was  far  the 
most  my  fault;  he  is  such  a  child;  such  a 
child  of  nature,  I  mean.  Tell  him  I  said  it 
sounds  very  pretty  to  call  ourselves  and 
each  other  children  of  nature,  but  we  have 
no  right  to  be  such.  The  word  is  '  Be  thou 
clean,'  and  if  we  are  not  masters  of  nature 
we  can't  do  it.  Tell  him  that,  will  you? 
And  tell  him  he  has  nothing  to  grieve  for; 
I  was  only  a  dangerous  toy,  and  I  want  him 
201 


Strong  Hearts 

to  love  the  dear  Father  for  taking  it  away 
from  him  before  he  had  hurt  himself. 

"  Now  I  am  ready  to  go — only — that 
hymn  those  black  women — in  the  cemetery 
— you  remember?  I've  made  another  verse 
to  it.  You'll  find  it — afterward — on  a  scrap 
of  paper  between  the  leaves  of  my  Bible. 
It  isn't  good  poetry,  of  course;  it's  the  only 
verse  I  ever  composed.  May  I  say  it  to 
you  just  for  my — my  testimony?  It's  this: 

Yet  though  I  have  sinned,  Lord,  all  others  above, 
Though  feeble  my  prayers,  Lord;  my  tears  all  un 
seen; 

I'll  trust  in  thy  love,  Lord;  I'll  trust  in  thy  love — 
O  I'll  trust  in  thy  love  like  Mary  Mahgaleen. 

An  exalted  smile  lighted  her  face  as  she 
sunk  deeper  into  the  pillows.  She  tried  to 
speak  again,  but  her  voice  failed.  I  bent 
my  ear  and  she  whispered — "  Senda." 

As  I  beckoned  Senda  in,  Mrs.  Smith  mo 
tioned  for  me  to  come  to  her  where  she 
stood  at  a  window  whose  sash  she  had 
slightly  lifted;  the  same  to  which  the  moth 
had  once  been  lured  by  the  little  puddle  of 
sweet  drink  and  the  candle. 
202 


The  Entomologist 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  a  parable?  "  she 
whispered,  and  all  but  blinded  with  tears, 
she  pointed  to  the  lost  moth  lying  half  in, 
half  out  of  the  window,  still  beautiful  but 
crushed;  crushed  with  its  wings  full  spread, 
not  by  anyone's  choice,  but  because  there 
are  so  many  things  in  this  universe  that  not 
even  God  can  help  from  being  as  they  are. 

At  a  whispered  call  we  turned,  and  Senda, 
in  the  door,  herself  all  tears,  made  eager 
signs  for  us  to  come.  The  last  summons 
had  surprised  even  the  dying.  We  went 
in  noiseless  haste,  and  found  her  just  relax 
ing  on  Senda's  arm.  Yet  she  revived  an 
instant;  a  quiver  went  through  her  frame 
like  the  dying  shudder  of  a  butterfly,  her 
eyes  gazed  appealingly  into  Senda's,  then 
fixed,  and  our  poor  little  Titania  was  gone. 


203 


Strong  Hearts 


XXIII 

THE  story  is  nearly  told.  Before  I  close 
let  me  confess  how  heartlessly  I  have  told 
it.  Pardon  that;  and  pardon,  too,  the  self- 
consciousness  that  makes  me  beg  not  to 
be  remembered  as  I  seem  to  myself  in  the 
tale — a  tiptoeing,  peeping  figure  prowling 
by  night  after  undue  revelations,  and  using 
them — to  the  humiliation  of  souls  cleaner 
than  mine  could  ever  pretend  to  be. 

Next  day,  by  stealth  again,  we  buried  the 
little  rose-lady,  unknown  to  her  husband. 
We  could  not  keep  the  fact  long  from  the 
entomologist,  for  he  was  up  and  about  the 
house  again.  Nor  was  there  equal  need. 
So  when  the  last  rites  were  over  I  told  him, 
but  without  giving  any  part  of  her  message 
— I  couldn't  do  it!  I  just  said  she  had  left 
us. 

His  eye  did  not  moisten,  but  he  paled, 
trembled,  wiped  his  brow.  Then  I  handed 
him  the  crushed  moth,  and  he  was  his  con 
valescent  self  again. 

204 


The  Entomologist 

"  Hmm! — Dot  iss  a  pity  she  kit  smashed; 
I  titn't  vant  to  do  dot." 

I  thought  maybe  he  felt  more  than  he 
showed,  for  he  fretted  to  be  allowed  to  take 
a  walk  alone  beyond  the  gate  and  the  cor 
ner.  With  some  misgivings  his  wife  let 
him  go,  and  when  she  was  almost  anxious 
enough  over  his  tardy  stay  to  start  after 
him  he  came  back  looking  very  much  bet 
ter.  But  the  next  morning,  when  we  found 
him  in  the  burning  fever  of  an  unmistakable 
relapse,  he  confessed  that  the  German  keep 
er  of  an  eating-stall  in  the  neighboring4 
market,  for  his  hunger's  and  the  Father 
land's  sake,  had  treated  him  to  his  "  whole 
pifshtea-ak  undt  glahss  be-eh." 

He  lived  only  a  few  days.  Through  all 
his  deliriums  he  hunted  butterflies  and 
beetles,  and  died  insensible  to  his  wife's 
endearments,  repeating  the  Latin  conjuga 
tions  of  his  inconceivable  boyhood. 

So  they  both,  caterpillar  and  rose,  were 
gone;  but  the  memory  of  them  stays,  green 
— yes,  and  fragrant — not  alone  with  Fon- 
tenette,  and  not  only  with  Senda  besides, 
but  with  us  also.  How  often  I  recall  the 
205 


Strong  Hearts 

talks  on  theology  I  had  used  sometimes  to 
let  myself  fall  into  with  the  little  unsuccess 
ful  mistress  of  "  rose-es  "  who  first  brought 
the  miser  of  knowledge  into  our  garden, 
and  whenever  I  do  so  I  wonder,  and  won 
der,  and  lose  my  bearings  and  find  and 
lose  them  again,  and  wonder  and  wonder 
— what  God  has  done  with  the  entomolo 
gist. 

We  never  had  to  tell  Fontenette  that  he 
was  widowed.  We  had  only  to  be  long 
enough  silent,  and  when  he  ceased,  for  a 
time,  to  get  better,  and  rather  lost  the 
strength  he  had  been  gaining,  and  on  enter 
ing  his  room  we  found  him  always  with  his 
face  to  the  wall,  we  saw  that  he  knew.  So 
for  his  sake  I  was  glad  when  one  day,  with 
out  facing  round  to  me,  his  hand  tightened 
on  mine  in  a  wild  tremor  and  he  groaned, 
"  Tell  it  me— tell  it." 

I  told  it.  I  thought  it  well  to  give  him 
one  of  her  messages  and  withhold  the  rest, 
like  the  unscrupulous  friend  I  always  try 
to  be;  and  when  he  had  heard  quite  through 
— "  Tell  him  I  died  loving  him  and  blessing 
him  for  the  unearned  glorious  love  he  gave 
206 


The  Entomologist 

me  all  our  days  " — he  made  as  if  to  say  the 
word  was  beyond  all  his  deserving,  turned 
upon  his  face,  and  soaked  the  pillow  with 
his  tears.  But  from  that  day  he  began 
slowly  but  steadily  to  get  well. 

We  kept  Senda  with  us  as  long  as  we 
could,  and  when  at  length  she  put  her  foot 
down  so  that  you  might  have  heard  it — 
say  like  the  dropping  of  a  nut  in  the  wood — 
and  declared  that  go  she  must-must-must ! 
we  first  laughed,  then  scoffed,  and  then 
grew  violent,  and  the  battle  forced  her  back 
ward.  But  when  we  tried  to  salary  her  to 
stay,  she  laughed,  scoffed,  grew  violent,  and 
retook  her  entrenchments.  And  then,  when 
she  offered  the  ultimatum  that  we  must 
take  pay  for  keeping  her,  we  took  our  turn 
again  at  the  three  forms  of  demonstration, 
and  a  late  moon  rose  upon  a  drawn  battle. 
Since  then  we  have  learned  to  count  it  one 
of  our  dearest  rights  to  get  "  put  out "  at 
Senda's  outrageous  reasonableness,  but  she 
doesn't  fret,  for  "  sare  is  neveh  any  sundeh 
viss  se  lightening." 

The  issue  of  this  first  contest  was  decided 
the  next  day  by  Fontenette,  still  on  his  bed 
207 


Strong  Hearts 

of  convalescence.  "  Can  I  raise  enough 
money  in  yo'  office  to  go  at  France?" 

"  You  can  raise  twice  enough,  Fonte- 
nette,  if  it's  to  try  to  bring  back  some  new 
business." 

"  Well— yes,  'tis  for  that.  Of  co'se,  be 
sides " 

"  Yes,  I  know:  of  course." 

"  But  tha'z  what  puzzle'  me.  What  I'm 
going  do  with  that  house  heah,  whilse  I'm 
yondeh!  I  wou'n'  sell  it — ah,  no!  I  wou'n' 
sell  one  of  those  roses!  ^An'  no  mo'  I 
wou'n'  rent  it.  Tha's  a  monument,  that 
house  heah,  you  know?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know."  He  never  found  out  how 
well  I  knew. 

"  Fontenette,  I'll  tell  you  what  to  do  with 
it." 

"  No,  you  don't  need ;  I  know  whad  thad 
is.  An'  thaz  the  same  I  want — me.  Only 
— you  thing  thad  wou'n'  be  hasking  her 
too  much  troub'?" 

"No,  indeed.  There's  nothing  else  you 
could  name  that  she'd  be  so  glad  to  do." 

When  I  told  Senda  I  had  said  that,  the 
tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  "Ah,  sat  vass 
208 


The  Entomologist 

ri-ight!  O,  sare  shall  neveh  a  veed  be  in 
sat  karten  two  dayss  oldt!  An'  sose  roses 
— sey  shall  be  pairf ect  ever'  vun !  " 


XXIV 

As  perfect  as  roses  every  one  were  her 
words  kept.  And  Fontenette  got  his  new 
business  but  could  not  come  back  that  year, 
nor  the  second,  nor  the  third.  The  hither- 
side  of  his  affairs  he  assigned  for  the  time 
to  a  relative,  a  very  young  fellow,  but  ever 
so  capable—"  a  hustler,"  as  our  fat  friend 
would  say  in  these  days.  We  missed  the 
absentee  constantly,  but  forgave  his  deten 
tion  the  easier  because  incidentally  he  was 
clearing  up  a  matter  of  Senda's  over  there, 
in  which  certain  displeased  kindred  had 
overreached  her.  Also  because  of  his  letters 
to  her,  which  she  so  often  did  us  the  honor 
to  show  us. 

The  first  few  were  brief,  formal  and  color 
less;  but  after  some  time  they  began  to  take 
on  grace  after  grace,  until  at  length  we  had 
to  confess  that  to  have  known  him  only  as 
209 


Strong  Hearts 

we  had  known  him  hitherto  would  have 
been  to  have  been  satisfied  with  the  reverse 
of  the  tapestry,  and  never  fully  to  have  seen 
the  excellence  of  his  mind  or  the  modest 
nobility  of  his  spirit.  Frequently  we  felt 
very  sure  we  saw  also  that  no  small  share 
of  their  captivating  glow  was  reflected  from 
Senda's  replies — of  which  she  never  would 
tell  us  a  word.  The  faults  in  his  written 
English  were  surprisingly  few,  and  to  our 
minds  only  the  more  endeared  it  and  him. 
Maybe  we  were  not  judicial  critics. 

Yet  we  could  pass  strictures,  and  as  the 
months  lengthened  out  into  years  these 
winged  proxies  stirred  up,  on  our  side  of 
the  street,  a  profound  and  ever-growing 
impatience.  O,  yes,  every  letter  was  a  gar 
den  of  beautiful  thoughts,  still;  but  think 
of  it!  pansies  where  roses  might  have  been; 
and  a  garden  wherein — to  speak  figurative 
ly — the  nightingale  never  sang. 

On  a  certain  day  of  All  Saints,  the  fourth 
after  the  scourge,  Senda  sat  at  tea  with  us. 
Our  mood  was  chastened,  but  peaceful.  We 
had  come  from  visiting  at  the  sunset  hour 
the  cemetery  where  in  the  morning  the  two 
210 


The  Entomologist 

women  and  our  old  nurse  had  decked  the 
tombs  of  our  dead  with  flowers.  I  had 
noticed  that  at  no  tomb  front  were  these 
tokens  piled  more  abundantly,  or  more 
beautifully  or  fragrantly,  than  at  those  of 
Flora  and  the  entomologist;  it  was  always 
so.  I  had  remarked  this  on  the  spot,  and 
Senda,  with  her  rearranging  touch  still 
caressing  their  splendid  masses,  replied, 

"  So? — Veil — I  hope  siss  shall  mine  vork 
and  mine  pleassure  be  until  mineself  I  shall 
fade  like  se  floweh." 

I  inwardly  resented  the  speech,  but  said 
nothing.  I  suppose  it  was  over  my  head. 

Now,  at  the  table,  she  explained  as  to 
certain  costly  blooms  about  which  I  had  in 
quired,  that  they  were  Fontenette's  special 
offering,  for  which  he  always  sent  the  pur 
chase  money  ahead  of  time  and  with  de 
tailed  requests.  Whereat,  remembering 
how  she  had  formerly  glozed  and  gilded 
the  entomologist's  unthrift,  I  remarked, 
one-fourth  in  play,  three-fourths  in  earnest, 

"  A  good  plain  business  man  isn't  the 
least  noble  work  of  God,  after  all." 

"No,"  said  Senda,  without  looking  up; 

211 


Strong  Hearts 

and,  after  a  long,  meditative  breath,  she 
added,  very  slowly, 

"  Se  koot  Kott  makes  not  all  men  for  se 
same  high  calling.  If  Kott  make  a  man  to 
do  no  betteh  san  make  a  living  or  a  fawtune, 
it  iss  right  for  se  man  to  make  it;  se  man  iss 
not  to  blame.  And  now  I  vant  to  tell  you 
se  news  of  sat  letteh  from " 

"  The  other  side,"  we  suggested,  and  in 
vited  her  smile,  but  without  success. 

"  Yes,  from  se  osseh  si-ide ;  sat  letteh  vhat 
you  haf  brought  me  since  more  as  a  veek 
ago;  and  also  vhy  I  haf  not  sat  letteh  given 
you  to  read.  Sat  iss — if  you  like  to  know 
— yes? 

"  Veil,  sen  I  vill  tell  you.  And  sare  are 
two  sings  to  tell.  Se  fairst  is  a  ve'y  small, 
but  se  secondt  iss  a  ve'y  lahge.  And  se 
fairst  is  sat  that  7  am  now  se  Countess. 

"  So?  you  are  glad?  I  sank  you  ve'y 
much.  I  sink  sat  iss  not  much  trouble — to 
be  a  countess — in  Ame'ica? 

"  Se  secondt  sing  " — :here  a  servant  en 
tered,  and,  it  seemed  to  me,  never  would 
go  out,  but  Senda  waited  till  we  were  again 
alone — "  se  secondt — pahdon  me,  I  sink  I 
212 


The  Entomologist 

shall  betteh  se  secondt  sing  divide  again 
into  two  aw  sree.  And  se  fairst  is  sat  Mon 
sieur  Fontenette  vill  like  ve'y — ve'y  much 
to  come  home — now — right  avay." 

We  lifted  hands  to  clap  and  opened 
mouths  to  hurrah,  but  she  raised  a  warn 
ing  hand. 

"  No,  vait — if  you  pleass. 

"  Se  secondt  of  sose  two  or  sree  sings — 
it  is  sat — he — Monsieur  Fontenette — hass 
ask  me — "  Our  hearts  rose  slowly  into  our 
throats — "  Ze  vun  qvestion  to  vich  sare  can 
be  only — se — vun — answeh." 

At  this  we  gulped  our  breath  like  school 
girls  and  glowed.  But  the  more  show  we 
made  of  hopeful  and  pleading  smiles,  the 
more  those  dear  eyes,  so  seldom  wet,  filled 
up  with  tears. 

"  He  sinks  sare  can  two  answehs  be,  and 
he  like  to  heah  which  is  se  answeh  I  shall 
gif  him,  so  he  shall  know  if  he  shall  come — 
now — aw  if  he  shall  come — neveh. 

"  O  my  sweet  friend,"— to  Mrs.  Smith, 
down  whose  face  the  salt  drops  stale  un 
hindered — "  sare   iss   nossing   faw   you   to 
cry."    She  smiled  heroically. 
213 


Strong  Hearts 

I  could  be  silent  no  longer.  "  Senda, 
what  have  you  answered?  " 

"  I  haf  answered  " — her  lips  quivered  till 
she  gnawed  them  cruelly — "  I  am  sorry  to 
take  such  a  long  time  to  tell  you  sat — but 
—I— I  find  sat— ve'y  hahd— to  tell."  She 
smiled  and  gnawed  her  lips  again.  "  I  haf 
answered — 

"  Do  you  sink,  my  deah,  sat  siss  is  ri-ight 
to  tell  the  ve'y  vords  sat  I  haf  toldt  him? — 
yes? — veil — he  tell  me  I  shall  se  answeh 
make  in  vun  vord — is  sat  not  like  a  man? 

"  But  I  had  to  take  six.  And  sey  are 
sese:  I  cannot  vhispeh  across  se  ocean." 


214 


14  DAY  USE 

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